Let The Sixteenth Hunger Games Begin
by Clare
Summary: District 12 lost all thirty of the tributes they sent to the first fifteen Hunger Games. Will seventeen-year-old April break that losing streak and become her district's first victor? Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixteenth Hunger Games begin!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

April slowly traced the letters carved into the stone, recalling as she did so what had happened a year ago today. The letters spelled out a name, Viola Henshaw, the name of the girl who had been April's best friend. Until the Capitol took her away, took her as a tribute in the Hunger Games. And no-one from District 12 who became a tribute had ever returned alive; there were thirty graves in this section of the Burial Ground, one for every youngster who had been reaped in the past fifteen years.

Fifteen Hunger Games had already come and gone. Fifteen Hunger Games in which twenty-four young people were made to fight to the death until only one of them was left standing. Fifteen years of the Capitol punishing the districts for their attempted rebellion by making the people watch their sons and daughters kill each other.

Every year, the Hunger Games were televised across Panem and everyone was required by law to watch. So, when Viola was strangled by the girl from District 1 at last year's Games, April had been forced to watch the whole thing. Viola had managed to stay alive for six days, a long time for a District 12 tribute to survive in the arena; it was rare for them to last more than two days, underfed and undertrained as they were. But Viola had not only survived the bloodbath (though her district partner, whose grave was next to hers, wasn't so fortunate) she had lasted longer than any previous District 12 tribute. Some people in 12 had even dared to hope that it might finally be their year, that, after losing twenty-nine tributes in or shortly after the bloodbath, they would finally have a victor. But it was not to be.

April closed her eyes, remembering how Viola had died. It had happened when there were nine tributes left, meaning Viola just missed out on a place in the final eight. The District 1 girl (whose name April refused to mention even to herself) had ambushed her. She fought back using a knife she had managed to grab at the Cornucopia and appeared to be doing well; she and her opponent even managed to disarm each other. But the girl from District 1 had then looped a length of rope around Viola's neck, pulling it tighter and tighter until the boom of the cannon announced that District 12 were out of the running for yet another year. The image of Viola's face, contorted by strangulation, had been on every television screen in Panem. And it had seared itself on April's memory.

Now, it was reaping day once more, meaning a year had passed since April and Viola said their final goodbyes. This afternoon, the entire population of District 12 would have to report to the square and sign in. Everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen would be herded into roped-off areas to wait for the moment when two of their names would be drawn from the reaping balls, the moment when two of them would be condemned to die. For April, who was seventeen, this was the penultimate year in which she would have to face this ordeal, but her sister, Faith, was only fourteen, so she had four more years to go. And then there was her twelve-year-old brother, Otto, who was about to face his first reaping.

April dreaded the thought of having the name of one of her siblings called at a reaping, even though she knew it was unlikely. It was usually kids who had taken out tesserae and therefore had extra entries who were called. Since her parents were part of District 12's merchant class, they were slightly wealthier than the mining families who lived in the area known as the Seam. This meant they never had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, so their children had never had any need to sign up for tesserae. Had April been in this position, she would have had thirty-six entries this year. Six because it was her sixth year of eligibility, plus thirty for six years' worth of tesserae for a family of five. But merchant kids did not, as a rule, need extra entries and were therefore at less risk of having their names drawn.

However, this did not mean they were completely safe. Viola had been from the merchant class too, but her name had still been drawn. That meant April could soon be following her into the arena . . . No, it wasn't likely that a merchant kid's name would be drawn two years in a row. More likely it would be two kids from the Seam with several lots of tesserae between them who would be sent to their deaths.

Sent to their deaths as Viola had been sent to her death last year. April looked down at the stone marking her friend's final resting place, trying not to think about whose graves might soon be added to this section of the Burial Ground. There was little doubt in her mind that it would be graves, plural; District 12 had never produced a victor, had never even had a tribute in the final eight. In every one of the first fifteen Hunger Games, their tributes (with the exception of Viola) had all been knocked out early and April saw no reason why the Sixteenth Games should be any different. All she could do was hope that the kids chosen this year would at least survive the bloodbath.

April traced the letters of Viola's name one more time. Then, she got to her feet and turned to walk away, heading for her home in the wealthier part of District 12. She still had to get ready for the reaping; the white blouse and green plaid skirt which she had picked out last week were on her bed, waiting for her to put them on. Reaping day was supposed to be a day of celebration, though needless to say only the people in the Capitol actually enjoyed it, and everyone was expected to dress up for the ceremony which took place in each district's main square. But no amount of dressing up could hide the day's true purpose: to select two young people and send them to their deaths as a reminder of the Capitol's power over the districts.

Still, April thought as she reached the toy shop which her parents ran, at least she and her siblings would only have ten entries between them. So the odds of one of them being chosen were slim compared to many of the kids from the Seam. Even so, she couldn't help feeling a sense of dread at this time every year.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The square and the surrounding streets were packed with people waiting for a ceremony which they dreaded but which they had no choice but to attend. On reaping day, everyone had to be in the square by the appointed time, two o'clock in the afternoon in District 12's case; only those too ill to get out of bed were exempt. So it was that nearly 8000 men, women and children were crammed into this small space, waiting for the moment when the names of this year's tributes would be drawn.

Those of reaping age were corralled in roped-off areas; their parents and everyone who was too old, or too young, for the Games stood round the edges, watching silently, each of them hoping desperately that it wouldn't be one of their loved ones who was chosen. April, standing with the rest of the seventeen-year-olds, could just make out the faces of her parents, Henry and Trillium, among the crowd. They were standing side by side, Henry's arm around his wife's shoulder, trying to avoid looking at the youngsters behind the ropes, especially their own three children. April looked back to where Faith was standing among the fourteen-year-olds, a blue Alice band in her fair hair; she gave her sister a quick wave, which Faith returned. She couldn't see Otto, but she knew he was there, standing near the back with the other twelve-year-olds.

At length, Mayor Lynch, the middle-aged man responsible for the day-to-day running of District 12, stepped forward and began to give the speech he gave at this time every year. The speech describing how a combination of war and natural disasters all but destroyed the world, how the nation of Panem emerged from the ashes, how the districts rebelled against their rulers in the Capitol . . . Everyone in the square knew the story and they were only too aware of what the outcome had been. The Capitol had prevailed, District 13 was destroyed and, as punishment for the rebellion, each of the remaining twelve districts was required every year to send a young boy and a young girl to face almost certain death in the Hunger Games. Thus they would be reminded that the Capitol had the power of life and death over them.

"It is both a time for repentence and a time for thanks," said Mayor Lynch, concluding his speech. It was customary at this point for the mayor of a district to read out the names of that district's past victors. But District 12 had no victors, so there were no names to be read out; instead, he moved directly to the main event of the afternoon, the drawing of the names. "And now, please welcome District 12's Hunger Games escort. All the way from the Capitol - Ganymede Swift!"

Throughout Mayor Lynch's speech, a man had been sitting on one of the chairs which had been placed on the specially constructed stage and he now got to his feet and walked over to the microphone. Every year for as long as April could remember, Ganymede Swift had come to District 12 to draw the names from the reaping balls. And, every year for as long as she could remember, he had sported some outlandish fashion from the Capitol. This year, he had turned up wearing a hot pink satin shirt which had been left open at the front, white trousers with rows of tiny pink electric light bulbs arranged along the seams, silver boots with streaks of pink in the same shade as his shirt. And his collar-length hair had been dyed white with pink streaks. Finally, his face was painted with stars and crescent moons. Dressed in this bizarre get-up, he gave the customary greeting. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Of course, this being District 12, the odds would most definitely not be in the favour of the two kids who were unlucky enough to have their names drawn.

* * *

><p>After a brief speech about what an honour it was to be here in District 12, a speech which oozed insincerity in April's opinion, Ganymede got down to business. "And, as always, we'll start with the ladies," he said, moving towards the reaping bowls. All eyes were on him as he reached into the bowl containing the girls' names and groped around for a few seconds before extracting one of the slips of paper. Hurrying back to the microphone, he unfolded the paper and read out the name written on it. "April Willis!"<p>

April felt the blood drain out of her face. She had dreaded the thought of hearing her name read out, but she hadn't expected it to actually happen, not least because she only had six entries in the bowl. For a moment, she had a flashback to this time last year, the moment when Ganymede called Viola's name and her best friend was taken from her forever. The memory was so overwhelming that she briefly forgot that she was supposed to head for the stage the moment her name was called; she stood rooted to the spot, unable to remember how to move.

"April Willis!" Ganymede called again. "Come up to the stage, please!"

Somehow, April found the will to move. It was just as well she did because, if someone whose name had been drawn failed to come to the stage, the Peacekeepers had been known to drag them to the front by force. So, her heart pounding, she made her way through the crowd, on a journey which seemed to go on for miles but was actually only a few yards. She mounted the stage and stood facing the entire population of District 12, as Ganymede asked if any of the other girls of reaping age would be willing to volunteer as tribute in her place.

There were no takers. In fact, District 12 had only ever had one volunteer. At the Second Games, a girl named Cinder had volunteered for a friend who had been blinded in the rebellion, not that this mattered to the Capitol; the rule was that all district citizens between the ages of twelve and eighteen were included in the reaping unless they were victors - no exceptions. Cinder had become a fatality of the bloodbath, speared by the boy from District 2 less than ten minutes into that year's Games. Since then, no-one else from District 12 had risked putting themselves forward when Ganymede asked for volunteers; they were only too aware of what the odds of them getting out of the arena alive were.

And that, April realised, meant only one thing: she was going to the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p>"And now," Ganymede was saying, "it's the turn of the gentlemen." He made his way to the boys' reaping bowl, reached inside and pulled out one of the slips. Returning to the microphone, he opened the slip to reveal the name written on it. "Simm Austin!" he called. April, standing on the stage, watched as a dark-haired boy dressed in blue dungarees and a white shirt stepped forward and began to make his way towards the stage. The first thing that struck her was how young he was, probably around the same age as Otto, another twelve-year-old whose first reaping had turned out to be his last.<p>

April sometimes wondered which was worse. Being reaped at twelve when you hardly stood a chance in the arena, or being reaped at eighteen when you were one year away from safety? She could hear the crowd muttering unhappily as they always did when one of the younger kids was chosen; the odds were that Simm would be among the first to fall once the Games began. His youth, plus the fact that he came from District 12, gave him every disadvantage he could possibly have.

Once again, Ganymede asked for volunteers, this time from among the boys. Once again, no-one stepped forward. Even though Simm would be one of the youngest - if not the youngest - of the tributes in the Sixteenth Hunger Games, none of the District 12 boys who could have taken his place were willing to do so. In fact, April noted, most of them seemed to be trying to look in any direction but at the boy standing beside her, the boy who would shortly be forced into a deadly game which he would almost certainly lose. As would she, but she was distracted from this morbid thought as Mayor Lynch began to read the Treaty of Treason.

Once the Treaty had been read, April and Simm were directed to shake hands, which they did without looking each other in the eye. "Ladies and gentlemen," said Ganymede as the national anthem began to play, "your tributes in the Sixteenth Hunger Games - April Willis and Simm Austin!" There followed some mandatory applause, before the two tributes were escorted into the Justice Building, flanked by Peacekeepers.

* * *

><p>April had been in the Justice Building this time last year after Viola was reaped; tributes were given an hour to say goodbye to their friends and families before they left their districts. These goodbyes were always tinged with sadness, knowing that it would almost certainly be goodbye forever; of the twenty-four tributes sent to the Games each year, only one would come back alive. And so far that had not included anyone from District 12. In fact, there were four districts, including 12, that had yet to produce a victor, though all the others had had at least one tribute in the final eight. Not so District 12; the best they had done was the ninth place achieved by Viola last year.<p>

Now, April was in the very room where she and Viola had said their final goodbyes, only this time she was the tribute. She was the one who was about to be sent away to die because of a rebellion in which she had had no part. How could she? She had only been a toddler when the Hunger Games were first held, far too young to have been actively involved in the rebellion. She knew most of her parents' generation had been involved - indeed, Trillium had been among those who foiled the Capitol's jabberjay stratagem by feeding the genetically engineered talking birds with endless lies about rebel movements - but it was her generation that was being made to pay the price. And something told her that the Capitol would continue to use the Hunger Games as a weapon against the districts even after none of those who had been actively involved in the rebellion were left alive.

She tried to be brave for the sake of her family; she didn't want them to remember her as someone who had cried hysterically and wailed that she "didn't want to die". So she sat with her parents and siblings, assuring them that she was going to be all right, even though she knew it was unlikely she would last long once the Games began. Her family knew it too, though they avoided speaking of it openly.

Presently, a Peacekeeper came in and told April's family that their time was up. April embraced each member of her family in turn - Henry, Trillium, Faith, Otto - before they left the Justice Building, almost certainly never to see her alive again, except on television. Before she left, Faith paused in the doorway. "April," she said, "I'll look after Apollo for you." Apollo was April's canary. The birds were used in District 12's coal mines as an early warning against the build-up of toxic gases, but they were also popular pets among the merchant class. April just had time to thank her sister before the Peacekeeper grabbed Faith by the arm and escorted her out.

Once her family were gone, April sat down on the plush sofa with tears welling up in her eyes. She knew the chances of her seeing them again were so slim as to be almost non-existent.

* * *

><p>"April?"<p>

April looked up at the sound of the voice to see a woman standing beside her. It was Nell Henshaw, Viola's mother, who ran the fruit-and-veg shop with her husband. Even though April had been Viola's friend, she had not expected Nell to come to say goodbye to her, given what had happened last year. Being in this room, the same room where she had spent her last moments with Viola, must bring back painful memories, just as it did for April. The image of Viola's corpse, her face contorted, her neck bearing the mark of the rope the District 1 girl had used to strangle her, seemed to hover before April's eyes and she had to blink to clear it.

"April," Nell said again, taking something out of her skirt pocket, "there's something I want you to have. I think Viola would want you to have it too." With that, she placed the object she had taken out of her pocket into April's outstretched hand. "It's the token Viola wore in the arena last year," she explained. Under the rules of the Hunger Games, tributes were allowed to bring one small item from their districts into the arena, though they were strictly forbidden to bring weapons, or anything which could be used as a weapon. Often, these tokens took the form of jewellery, but there were exceptions; one year, for example, the girl tribute from District 4 had used a small seashell as her token.

April looked at the object she had been given, a silver ring. It must have been in Nell's family for years, since before the rebellion and the Dark Days which followed, and it was a sure sign that the Henshaws were part of the merchant class. No doubt Viola would have passed it on to her own daughter one day, had she not become a fatality of the Hunger Games. Now, her mother was giving the ring to the girl who had been Viola's best friend, the girl who was now facing a similar fate. Neither of them had any illusions about April's chances; they both knew Viola had been lucky to survive as long as she had. Most District 12 tributes were knocked out very early on.

"You'll do your best to win, won't you?" said Nell, as April slipped the ring onto her finger. "For Viola's sake."

"I'll try." There was nothing else April could say. She knew the odds of her surviving in the arena for more than a couple of days, never mind actually winning, were slim. It was more likely that one of the tributes from Districts 1, 2 or 4, the Career districts as people had started calling them in the last few years, would be the victor. Those three districts had the Capitol's favour and they trained their children for the Hunger Games, even though this wasn't allowed under the rules. This gave them an advantage over the other districts and they had already produced nine victors between them; of the non-Career districts, only District 7 had won more than once.

* * *

><p>All too soon, April was on board a luxury train, heading for the Capitol. She, Simm and the other twenty-two tributes would spend the days leading up to the Games in a building called the Training Centre, where they would be taught various fighting and survival techniques. Past victors would also be there to act as mentors to the tributes from their districts, securing sponsors, advising the tributes on their strategies for the arena. But, since District 12 had yet to produce a victor, there was no-one with first-hand experience of the Games for their tributes to turn to for advice. If a district had no victors, the task of mentoring fell to their escort, but escorts were invariably citizens of the Capitol, people who had never wanted for anything in their lives.<p>

Even so, April decided it might be worth at least trying to ask Ganymede for advice. After all, as someone who had been involved with the Hunger Games since their inception, he should have at least some knowledge of how they worked. "So what happens in the arena?" she asked over dinner. A whole roast quail each, stuffed with herbs, served on a nest of leaf vegetables, a rich sauce poured over the top. Neither April nor Simm had ever tasted anything like it; poultry was an expensive luxury in District 12 and even merchant families like April's could only afford it a few times a year, if they were lucky. There were wild turkeys in the woods surrounding the district, but the penalties for poaching were so severe that few dared to risk venturing out to get one.

"Twenty-three kids die, of course," Ganymede replied, taking a sip of his wine. April too had been served a glass of wine, her first taste of alcohol. Simm, being only twelve years old, was drinking fruit juice, a luxury his parents could never have afforded back home.

"Yes, I know. But how do you avoid becoming one of those twenty-three?"

But, before Ganymede could reply, several servers came bustling in to remove the remains of the main course. They were followed by another set of servers bringing the small cakes drizzled with honey which had been prepared for dessert.

* * *

><p>Even though her family were well-off by District 12's standards, April was not used to the rich food eaten in the Capitol and, by the end of the meal, she was feeling rather queasy. And, judging by the way Simm was holding his stomach as they left the dining room and made their way to the car containing the TV room, she wasn't the only one. Simm looked like he might throw up at any minute and April almost wished he would. It would serve these Capitol people right for taking them from their families and forcing them into a contest which neither of them had any chance of winning.<p>

For now, though, it was time to watch the recap of the reapings which had taken place across Panem today, the first chance for April and Simm to see the tributes they would be up against. They sat side-by-side on the couch, while Ganymede sat on a nearby armchair, all three of them facing the television as the Capitol seal appeared on the screen, heralding the beginning of the recap. First up was District 1, the district which specialised in luxury goods; here, a girl named Velvet Neville, beautiful but deadly, was called to the stage. A small boy, who looked like this was at most his second reaping, was also called, but was almost immediately replaced by a volunteer, a handsome youth whose name was presently revealed to be Faberge West.

District 2's tributes (Agrippina Shaw and Flint Davison) were also volunteers; in fact, volunteering was becoming the norm in all the Career districts, but none more so than 2. Even after less than two decades, their tributes already had a reputation for being highly skilled fighters, eager to take down as many tributes as they could. Both Agrippina and Flint had that look about them, that look which said they were in these Games to win and any tributes who got in their way would not live to regret it.

District 3 had a girl named Data Hillman, who wore glasses and had brown hair cut in a short bob, and a boy named Newton Kane, a thirteen-year-old with close-cropped black hair. They both had the geeky look typical of their district and April didn't think they would pose much of a threat. Still, it never paid to judge by appearances; people from District 3 were highly skilled with technology and, if these two tributes could make use of those skills, they might be in with a chance. In District 4, a girl named Candida Challis stepped forward to volunteer for the twelve-year-old whose name was drawn; her district partner was Reef Gillespie, an eighteen-year-old whose bronzed skin told April he must have spent a great deal of his time out at sea. District 4 was the fishing district; its citizens were practically raised on the water and many learned to swim before they could walk.

The next few tributes - Delia Prince and Iago Marshall from District 5, Zoe Daniels and Columbus Moore from 6, Artemis Flynn and Logan Rodgers from 7 - did not make much of an impression on April. But Adeline Crosby, the girl tribute from District 8, did. She was twelve years old but looked even younger, so much so that, when she stepped onto the stage, April thought for a moment that a child of about eight or nine years old had ended up behind the ropes by mistake. But she reminded herself that the Peacekeepers did not make mistakes like that when it came to the reaping, though she still felt a pang of pity when no-one volunteered to take Adeline's place. District 8's boy tribute, Quilt Hammond, was called, then the coverage moved to District 9.

This year, the grain district's tributes were a fourteen-year-old girl named Helen Lightfoot and a sixteen-year-old boy named Alexander Bates. Petunia Russell and Taurus Hallam were called from District 10, followed by Almond Livingstone and Pod Kennedy from 11. Finally, it was District 12's turn; April and Simm watched as their names were called and they stepped forward to take their places in the Games which they would almost certainly lose.

April looked down at the ring on her finger, the ring which had once belonged to Viola, thinking of her late friend, the girl who, this time last year, had made the same journey she was now making.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

April struggled to fall asleep that night, partly because she had eaten food that was richer than she was used to, but mostly because her mind was filled with memories of District 12. The coal-mining district, grey and depressing though it was, had been her home for seventeen years, but she would almost certainly never see it again. She was a tribute on her way to the Hunger Games and she was only too aware of what was likely to happen to her once she got to the arena. Something, or more likely someone, was going to kill her.

And her friends and family would be forced to watch it happen. They'd have no choice in the matter; it was mandatory for everyone in Panem to watch at least the highlights of each day in the arena and those highlights always included full coverage of every death. She remembered some of the deaths she had seen while watching the Games. A boy falling to the ground with an arrow in his chest. Two tributes who, faced with a choice between the Careers and the jagged rocks at the bottom of a cliff, chose the latter option. A tidal wave engulfing the tropical island which had formed the arena three years ago, wiping out four tributes in one go.

And then there was Viola, her friend who had fallen in last year's Games. Viola, who had lasted longer than any previous District 12 tribute, but had still only survived six days out of the eleven it had taken for those Games to resolve. Again and again, April relived the moment Viola was killed, strangled by the girl from District 1. It reminded her of her own impending death, but, no matter how hard she tried to shut the images out and think about something pleasant, they kept coming back.

* * *

><p>In the end, she got up and left her compartment. Dressed in her satin pyjamas, she made her way to the deserted TV room. She turned on the television and was immediately treated to a clip from the Eighth Hunger Games, in which the arena had been a cemetery. A sick joke on the part of the Gamemakers, she thought, sending the tributes to such a place, a place where they were surrounded by reminders of death. She switched the set off, then looked up to see a small figure standing in the doorway. Simm. He too was clad in pyjamas and, from the look of things, he too was having trouble sleeping.<p>

"You OK?" she asked, the first words she had ever said to him. She knew him by sight; he was one of the Seam kids who often looked in the window of her parents' toy shop, staring longingly at the toys their families would never be able to afford. But, until now, she hadn't spoken to him and she hadn't even known his name until Ganymede drew it out of the reaping bowl.

He shook his head. "I can't sleep; I keep thinking about the Games." He walked over to the couch and sat down, sighing deeply, trying to banish the overwhelming dread he had been feeling ever since his name was called. Few tributes younger than fourteen years old lasted long in the arena; they were often weeded out by their older competitors. And the fact that he came from District 12 meant his chances were even slimmer. Like April, he had been kept awake by thoughts of what could happen to him once the Games began, by thoughts that he would almost certainly be dead in a few days' time.

"I know," April said, sitting down beside him. "I can't sleep either and for the same reason." Almost without realising it, she slipped her arm around him and drew him closer to her as she had often done with Otto when he was younger, before he declared himself "too old for mushy hugs". She knew she shouldn't get too attached to her district partner, but all she could see right now was a frightened, homesick child, a child who was being forced into a situation which would almost certainly cost him his life.

Simm made no attempt to pull away from her. Instead, he rested his head against her chest, remembering his family back in District 12 as he did so. He knew there was virtually no chance that he would ever see them again, but this girl he hardly knew did at least provide a link with home. And she reminded him of his older sister, Rowena, who was about the same age as April; she had come with their parents to say goodbye to him, had given him their grandfather's battered old wristwatch (which hadn't worked for years) to wear as a token. And thinking of Rowena reminded him of the songs she used to sing to him when he was younger.

"Maybe we could sing something," he said at length. "Something to take our minds off things. Do you know _Deep In The Meadow_?"

April nodded. Almost everyone in District 12 knew that song, having had it sung to them as children. It was a simple lullaby composed by one of their citizens in the days before the rebellion; the lyrics spoke of falling asleep in a meadow and dreaming happy dreams. It evoked a world free from care, a world with no Hunger Games, no Capitol holding the districts in its iron grip, no food shortages. She started the song, Simm joined in and they sang it together, two tributes trying to forget the fate which awaited them. At least for a little while.

At length, one of the Capitol attendants found April and Simm in the TV room, sitting side-by-side on the couch. He carried Simm, who had fallen asleep, back to his compartment, as April headed back to hers.

* * *

><p>When April got back to her compartment, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. And, for the first time in nearly a year, her dreams were not troubled by images of Viola's death.<p>

The next morning, she woke up to find herself lying in an unfamiliar bed, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. She had a strange feeling that she was moving, though she struggled to remember why at first. Then, she remembered the reaping, hearing Ganymede call her name, saying goodbye to her loved ones. She was a tribute, one of twenty-four kids on their way to the Capitol to compete and, in most cases, die in the Sixteenth Hunger Games. The thought made her wish she could wake up and find that this was all a dream, but she was soon forced to accept that it was reality. She really was on her way to the Capitol. She really was a tribute in the Hunger Games.

She took a shower and got dressed, then headed for the dining room, where Ganymede and Simm were already at breakfast. The moment she sat down to join them, a Capitol attendant served her an enormous platter consisting of sausages, bacon, fried egg and hash browns, plus a basket of bread rolls with a selection of jams and marmalades. To wash it all down, she was given a jug of fruit juice. She looked at the spread in disbelief. "Is this all for me?" In District 12, even the merchant families did not have this much food and it was probably more than some of the Seam families would have in a week.

"Of course," said Ganymede. "And don't worry if you can't finish it - the leftovers will be disposed of before we reach the Capitol."

As April set to work on the platter of food before her, Ganymede's words echoed in her mind. "The leftovers will be disposed of." A typical Capitol attitude, she thought. People in the districts, the poorer districts especially, barely had enough to live on, but the Capitol had so much food that they could just throw it away. No-one in District 12 would be so wasteful, not least because they couldn't afford to be, not when many of them didn't know where their next meal was coming from. Back home, she would never have been given more food than she could possibly eat, then told any leftovers would be disposed of. Not given to some poor Seam family, disposed of. Throwing away spoiled food was one thing, but the Capitol were prepared to do it to food that was still perfectly edible.

* * *

><p>Once April and Simm had eaten as much as they could, Ganymede began to go over what would happen when they arrived in the Capitol. "We'll be going through the tunnel shortly," he told them. "And, when you emerge, you'll have your first sight of the Capitol. Won't that be exciting?"<p>

April and Simm shrugged indifferently. Of all the words which could have been used to describe seeing the Capitol for the first time, "exciting" was not the one either of them would have chosen. They were only too aware of why they were being taken to the Capitol: to be trained for a deadly game which neither of them had any hope of winning. So they were not in the least looking forward to arriving at their destination.

"Come on - show some enthusiasm!" Ganymede said when the news of their impending arrival in the Capitol was greeted with such a lukewarm response. "Aren't you happy to get away from all that dreadful coal dust? I don't know how you can stand living like that."

"Probably because the only ones of us who've ever known anything different are all dead," was what April felt like saying. But she didn't; it would only remind her of Viola, of the fact that she too was almost certainly living on borrowed time. Instead, she put on a fake smile and tried to look as though she was happy to be here. Though, needless to say, she would much rather have been back in District 12 and she suspected the same was true of Simm.

Still, the smile seemed to satisfy Ganymede; then again, so many things in the Capitol were artificial that it was sometimes hard to tell the real from the fake. "Good," he said. "That's the sort of attitude we like to see. Now, when you arrive, you'll be taken to the Remake Centre and . . . well, remade."

"What does "remade" mean?" asked Simm. He and April looked at the garishly dressed man who was their escort. They both knew there was always a big opening ceremony every year, in which the tributes were paraded through the streets of the Capitol, dressed up to represent their district industries, but they had only ever seen the costumed tributes on their chariots. The hours of preparation which took place beforehand were not shown on television.

"It means you'll be cleaned up, made to look presentable," replied Ganymede. "And," he added with a pointed look at April, "it means getting rid of any excess body hair." Which, in the case of female tributes, meant all their body hair; Capitol women preferred their skin to be completely smooth and spent many hours having themselves waxed. "Can't have you appearing on national television looking like a couple of savages."

Neither April nor Simm bothered to point out that tributes generally ended up looking like savages anyway if they were in the arena for any length of time. They both knew they would probably be dead long before they got to that stage.

* * *

><p>April lay on a table, being prepped for the opening ceremonies. The tribute parade would not take place until tonight, but preparing the tributes could take several hours. Most, particularly those who came from the poorer districts, had little time to devote to personal grooming; even those who came from District 1 like Velvet and Faberge did not go to the same lengths as the people in the Capitol. April herself had never given her body hair a second thought, but she was now among people to whom a female with hair on any part of her body apart from her head was a crime against nature.<p>

In her opinion, the things the people in the Capitol did to their bodies were an even bigger crime against nature. Nearly the entire population was so tattooed, pierced and dyed that they hardly looked human; some had even had themselves fitted with animal accoutrements like tails and whiskers. This included the woman in charge of April's prep team, who not only had a set of cat's whiskers implanted in her cheeks, but had also had her entire body tattooed to look like a tabby cat, with her hair dyed to match. Her two assistants, a man and a woman, both had bright yellow hair.

April did not know any of their names - nor did she want to know - so she had nicknamed them the Cat and the Canaries. Right now, the Cat and the female Canary were pulling strips of wax off her legs, removing the hairs they found so unsightly, while the male Canary plucked at her eyebrows with a set of tweezers. "Nearly done!" the Cat exclaimed in that ridiculous high-pitched accent the people of the Capitol had. "Just one more strip to go and we'll be rid of all that horrible hair!" She shuddered as if the sight of a woman with body hair was the most revolting thing in the world, then pulled off the final wax strip. April winced, but did not cry out.

For the last two hours, she had been in the Remake Centre with these three freaks working on her. Already, she had been bathed in unidentifiable substances, scrubbed until her skin tingled, had her nails filed into uniform shapes. And then there was the waxing to rid her body of hair. All this was designed to make her look appealing to the people in the Capitol, make them want to sponsor her, not that it would do much good. Sponsors generally preferred to back tributes they thought might have a chance and District 12's poor record in the Games - nearly all their previous tributes dead within the first couple of days, no tributes in the final eight - tended to put them off.

At last, April was allowed to get off the table, but the Cat and the Canaries were not finished with her yet. They told her to take off the gown she had been wearing while they "remade" her and descended on her with tweezers, plucking out the few hairs which had escaped the waxing. "There!" said the Cat. "Now you're ready to meet your stylist!"

April greeted these words with as much enthusiasm as she had greeted Ganymede's news of their impending arrival in the Capitol. Every tribute had their own personal stylist and one of the jobs of the stylists was to design the costumes for the tribute parade. And April had seen enough tribute parades over the years to know that District 12 always had the worst costumes; their tributes were almost invariably dressed in unflattering coal miners' outfits. She remembered last year, when Viola and her district partner emerged dressed in "artistically" ripped black shirts and trousers, with miners' helmets on their heads. No doubt she would end up wearing something similar, something which would not appeal to the crowds lining the parade route.

But she knew she would have no choice but to go along with whatever her stylist had planned for her, even if it meant standing on her chariot stark naked.

* * *

><p>Simm, meanwhile, was being prepped in another room. Because he was only twelve years old, and because he was a boy, he did not have to go through the ritual of being waxed the way April did. But he did need to be scrubbed down to rid his body of the layers of grime he had picked up in District 12. With so much coal dust everywhere, it was difficult for the citizens of 12 (especially those who lived in the Seam) to keep clean, though many tried their best. However, this fell far short of the Capitol's standard of cleanliness, so, as soon as Simm arrived in the Remake Centre, he was put straight into a bath and given the scrubbing of his life.<p>

Now, he stood naked on the floor as his prep team inspected their handiwork, trying to resist the urge to try and preserve his modesty with his hands. At length, the head of his prep team, a green-haired man named Virgil, stepped back a pace. "Well, you're certainly cleaner than you were when you arrived," he said. "So all we have to do is tidy your fingernails up, apply the hair-growth retardant to your face and you'll be done."

"What's hair-growth retardant?" asked Simm, as Virgil's two assistants set to work filing his nails.

"Exactly what it says on the label," said Virgil, picking up a tube from among the assortment of beauty products on a nearby table. He squirted some cream into his hand and applied it to Simm's chin and upper lip. "There! That will make sure you won't grow a beard or a moustache while you're in the arena." Not that the men in the Capitol had any objection to beards and moustaches of the sort the women had to body hair; indeed, Virgil sported a goatee which had been dyed green to match the hair on his head. But they did prefer their male tributes to be clean-shaven, so every boy who arrived in the Capitol for the Games was given the same treatment Simm had just received. The same was true of every girl, except the cream was applied to the body as a whole in their case.

In fact, Simm had not yet started to grow facial hair. And, given his current situation, it was highly likely that he never would.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

April and Simm were not dressed as coal miners.

Instead, their stylists, Dido and Bacchus, had come up with an even more unflattering theme for District 12's chariot costumes: sacks of coal. Both tributes were dressed in shapeless tunics made from dark grey hessian, with rags made from the same coarse material tied round their feet as crude footwear. On both of them, every inch of exposed skin had been coated with black powder which, in April's opinion, meant all the trouble their prep teams had gone to getting them cleaned up had been a waste of time. And her blonde hair was covered with the same black powder, making it look as though she had dyed it. Simm too had the powder in his hair, but, because he was naturally dark-haired, it wasn't so noticeable. And, to complete the theme, the two tributes had been given "crowns" of coal.

"Go on, say it," Simm said, looking down at his tunic. "We look awful."

April ignored him. She was looking at her fellow tributes, partly because she had never seen them in the flesh before, partly to see what themes their stylists had chosen for their costumes. In the chariot nearest to herself and Simm stood Almond and Pod, the dark-skinned tributes from District 11, dressed as fruit trees; their costumes consisted of brown bodysuits and large headdresses of branches laden with very realistic looking apples. April knew little about District 11, other than that it was the largest district in Panem in terms of area and that, like District 12, it had no victors, although three of its tributes had reached the final eight.

On the other side of Almond and Pod were Petunia and Taurus from District 10; they were dressed as a cowgirl and a cowboy, their costumes comprising jeans and checked shirts, fringed leather jackets, cowboy boots and stetsons. Helen and Alexander, District 9's tributes, wore pale golden robes topped off with headdresses which looked as though they had been made entirely out of ears of wheat, depicting sheaves drying in the sun. Next to them, District 8's Adeline and Quilt wore costumes (a dress for Adeline, a shirt and trousers for Quilt) made by sewing a variety of different fabrics together; they also wore what looked like pin cushions on their heads.

Artemis and Logan from District 7 had been given brown tunics and trousers festooned with orange leaves, representing a forest in autumn, while Zoe and Columbus from 6 were dressed in pilots' jumpsuits and goggles to depict the transport industry. Delia and Iago from 5 wore a kind of reflective armour. Solar panels - their district's main industry was power. District 4's Candida and Reef were wearing costumes which had been designed to look like waves rolling across the sea, the vast stretch of salt water which April had only ever seen on television. And Data and Newton from District 3 wore black shirts and trousers decorated with metallic thread to depict the inner workings of computer chips, with silver capes draped over their shoulders. And then there were the costumes worn by the tributes from Districts 1 and 2.

District 2's stylists had dressed Agrippina and Flint in floor-length gowns which looked as if they had been carved out of stone, the matching headdresses made to look like the tops of classical columns. A Corinthian column for Agrippina, an Ionic column for Flint. Normally, District 2 tributes were dressed as statues, often with a martial theme since, in addition to being the home of Panem's stone quarries, 2 was the Capitol's military stronghold. Even before the rebellion, their citizens had been raised with a warrior mindset and they had embraced the Hunger Games like no other district; to them, being a tribute was such an honour that many of their young people were eager to volunteer every year.

And nearest the doors were Velvet and Faberge from District 1. From where April was standing, it looked as though they were naked, with diamonds stuck all over their bodies in intricate designs. In fact, they were dressed in flesh-coloured bodysuits studded with diamonds, giving the illusion that they were only wearing the gems. Their faces had been covered with sparkly paint and they wore diamond- encrusted headdresses. District 1, being the luxury district, invariably had the most spectacular costumes in the tribute parade and they were always hot favourites with the citizens of the Capitol, many of whom lined the parade route every year.

Sure enough, when the doors to the Remake Centre opened and the chariot bearing Velvet and Faberge emerged, a wild cheer greeted the two tributes.

* * *

><p>There was little chance of the District 12 tributes receiving the same response; the best April and Simm could hope for was that the crowd wouldn't boo them when they emerged. Their "sack of coal" costumes were the least spectacular in the parade, even worse than the coal miners' outfits tributes from their district usually wore. It was almost as if their stylists couldn't be bothered to make an effort and simply threw their costumes together at the last minute. This was another reason District 12 found it hard to attract sponsors.<p>

April and Simm stood on their chariot, watching as the chariots in front of them rolled towards the doors, pulled by teams of four horses. Agrippina and Flint from District 2, Data and Newton from 3, Candida and Reef from 4 . . . Each pair of tributes was greeted with varying degrees of enthusiasm, though none received a cheer as wild as that which Velvet and Faberge had been given. No doubt, April thought to herself, the District 1 tributes had already attracted a large number of sponsors, far more than she and Simm were likely to get. At best, Ganymede might be able to persuade one or two Capitol citizens to take them on, but even that was unlikely. And no sponsors meant no gifts from outside the arena, gifts which could help to keep a tribute alive.

April was so busy thinking about District 12's sponsors, or the near-total lack of them, that she failed to notice the chariot slowly moving towards the doors. By the time she realised what was happening, Almond and Pod (in their fruit tree costumes) were emerging from the Remake Centre. She hurriedly composed herself and stood up straight beside Simm, trying to maintain at least some dignity, trying not to think about the fact that the whole nation would soon see her dressed as a sack of coal.

The chariot emerged, greeted by a deafening silence. Clearly the people lining the streets had an even lower opinion of kids dressed as sacks of coal than they did of kids dressed as coal miners. And April didn't blame them; she hated her costume and would much rather have been stark naked than have to wear such an unflattering get-up. Then, as the chariot continued on its way, she heard a young voice ring out from the crowd, clearly audible even above the music which accompanied the procession.

"Those costumes look ugly!"

April looked round at the crowd, trying to work out who the speaker might be. The most likely culprit was, she decided, a little boy of around six or seven years old, who wore a child-size version of his father's purple suit. She longed to jump off the chariot and teach the brat a few manners, but decided it might not be a good idea, especially when all this was being shown on live television. Apart from anything else, she would put her district at an even bigger disadvantage than it was at already. So she held her head up high and told herself to ignore any further comments about the costumes she and Simm were wearing.

* * *

><p>Presently, the chariots drew up outside the president's mansion and the tributes waited for the president of Panem to emerge onto the balcony and give the speech welcoming them to the Sixteenth Hunger Games.<p>

President Aquila Chambers had ruled Panem for nearly thirty years. During that time, he had successfully put down the rebellion, after which he created the Games which would serve as a reminder that the districts must never again attempt to oppose their rulers. It would have been easy for him to have the rebel leaders executed, preferably during a live television broadcast that was mandatory viewing for the whole population, but that would only risk turning the rebel leaders into martyrs, which was the last thing he wanted. He'd considered wiping out a few more districts, as he had supposedly done with District 13, but that wasn't an option either. The Capitol depended on the districts to supply all its needs; without them, it could never survive. So he had devised a punishment that would hit the districts where it hurt.

Take two citizens from each district, a male and a female between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Send all twenty-four tributes to an arena and force them to murder each other until only one of them was left alive. Broadcast the whole thing on television and make it a legal requirement that everyone in Panem had to watch. The loss of twenty-three of their young people every year would remind the districts that the Capitol had the power of life and death over them, that it could do whatever it liked and they were powerless to stop it.

Now, as he had done fifteen times already, President Chambers stepped out onto the balcony to greet the latest batch of tributes. He was a tall man with slicked-back dark hair (though its colour was now largely achieved through the use of hair dye) and a hooked nose which somewhat resembled an eagle's beak. This nose was not naturally hooked; rather, the president had had it surgically altered to reflect the fact that his first name meant "eagle". And, like a great bird of prey, he surveyed the twenty-four youngsters standing in the chariots assembled before his mansion.

"Welcome, young citizens of Panem, to the Sixteenth Hunger Games!" And, with that, President Chambers launched into the speech he gave at this time every year. April did not listen to the rest of the speech; her mind was filled with memories of Viola, who had stood on this very spot a year ago tonight, listening to the exact same speech. Viola, her friend who had died in the Games which would surely claim her life as well, along with the lives of all but one of the other twenty-three tributes.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour," said President Chambers, ending his speech. The national anthem played and, when it was finished, the chariots did one final circuit before disappearing into the Training Centre, taking the tributes with them.

* * *

><p>As soon as the tributes arrived in the Training Centre, they were greeted by their escorts, stylists and mentors. April recognised some of the latter, having seen them as tributes in previous Hunger Games. Brilliant from District 1, who had won two years ago and was still only eighteen years old, young enough to be a tribute himself and only a year older than Velvet and Faberge. Mags from District 4, who had won in a year when the Cornucopia was placed on an island in the middle of a lake; that year, twelve tributes had died on the first day, eight killed in the bloodbath, four drowned attempting to swim across the lake. Atticus, last year's victor from District 6, who had, in the last fight of those Games, killed the girl who killed Viola. Michael from District 7, who had won the Fourth Hunger Games, the earliest Games April remembered.<p>

Since District 12 had no victors, the only people to greet April and Simm were Ganymede and the two stylists. Dido, April's stylist, was a short woman with platinum blonde hair in ringlets and an annoyingly girlish laugh. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, she actually seemed to believe the "sack of coal" costumes had been a hit. "We'll have to do that again some time," she said to Simm's stylist, Bacchus, a man who had a wig for every day of the year. Today's offering was a bright blue afro. "But maybe try having the tributes stand inside the sacks next time," she added, launching into her annoying laugh.

April had visions of two District 12 tributes being paraded through the streets of the Capitol trussed up in coal sacks, with only their heads sticking out, their faces blacked up. The thought made her wish Dido and Bacchus had followed tradition and dressed herself and Simm as coal miners. It would have looked awful, but at least it wouldn't have given the two stylists the idea that sacks of coal were any improvement on the theme. Then again, she thought to herself, it would probably take someone with a real creative flair to make District 12's main industry look visually appealing.

Ignoring the stylists, April headed for the elevators, followed by Simm. The two tributes stepped into the left-hand elevator and she was just about to press the button marked with a 12 when three more tributes came hurrying up: Adeline and Quilt from 8 and Helen from 9. She held the doors open, allowing them all to pile in, and the five tributes began the journey to their respective floors.

* * *

><p>April avoided looking at her fellow tributes as the elevator slowly worked its way upwards. She knew it was highly likely that all five of them would be dead within a few days, so it was hardly worth attempting to forge any friendships. At best they could be allies, but even that couldn't last; sooner or later, tributes who formed alliances had to face the fact that their alliance was only temporary, that they might have to kill each other. Even the alliance between the tributes from the Career districts was made on the understanding that it would only last until all the other tributes had been wiped out.<p>

Indeed, none of the five youngsters spoke the whole time they were in the elevator; they were too busy thinking about the things they had left behind, things they would almost certainly never see again. Adeline and Quilt recalled the crowded tenements and noisy textile factories of District 8, which was essentially one large city. Its tributes tended to fare poorly in the Games; their district's urban environment left them ill-equiped for the arena and, like the tributes from District 12, they almost invariably got knocked out early. Helen, who had taken off her headdress and was holding it in her hand, remembered the vast fields of grain which grew in District 9. As harvest time drew near, everything was golden as far as the eye could see, which was more than could be said for the lives of the people who lived in 9; many of them had to work long hours just to scrape by.

And April and Simm recalled their lives in District 12, a district rife with poverty, a district where everything was covered with a thin layer of coal dust. Most of the people in 12, unless they were born into the merchant class like April, worked in the coal mines at least for a time, though women generally took on other jobs if they had young children. But the men from the Seam often spent the whole of their working lives in the mines, extracting coal for the Capitol, a highly dangerous occupation which led to the deaths of many miners every year. And, had his name not been called at the reaping, this was the job Simm would have been doing in seven years' time.

But, no matter how grim life was there, District 12 had been April and Simm's home. They missed it and would have given anything to see it again, just one more time. However, they both knew it was highly unlikely; when they returned to 12, they would almost certainly be corpses in wooden boxes, two more victims of the Hunger Games. And the odds were also against Adeline, Quilt and Helen seeing their homes again, unless they could find a way of avoiding the other tributes and they wouldn't be able to do that for long, even if they survived the bloodbath. Sooner or later, one or more of the stronger tributes would surely find them and kill them.

At length, the elevator stopped on the eighth floor, where Adeline and Quilt got out, followed moments later by Helen getting out on the ninth floor. For the rest of the ride to the twelfth floor, April and Simm had the elevator to themselves.

* * *

><p>April stood under the shower, feeling the warm water splashing against her skin, washing away the black powder with which Dido had covered her. As soon as she had arrived in her quarters, she had taken off her costume and got straight in the shower. This shower was much more sophisticated than the one on the train; instead of just showering you with water, it could if you wished shower you with any number of shampoos, perfumed oils and various other products. But April's main concern right now was getting rid of the powder which had been part of one of the two worst costumes in the tribute parade.<p>

At length, free from black powder and blown dry by heaters which came on the moment she stepped out of the shower, she put on some clothes which she selected from the extensive wardrobe (a black skirt and a red top) and sat down on the bed. Looking around the room, she felt as though she was in a prison, a prison where she lived in the lap of luxury, but still a prison - and she was here under sentence of death. And she knew there was no getting away from here; no tribute had ever escaped from the Training Centre.

Eventually, wanting to at least get some fresh air, she left her quarters and made her way up the stairs which led to the roof. From here, she could see the streets of the Capitol stretching in all directions, the buildings lit up like they would never be in District 12. There, the electricity supply was notoriously unreliable, except when there was something on television which was mandatory viewing. The Capitol, by contrast, had electricity 24/7.

April thought of the people in the city below and, the more she did so, the more she hated them. Painted freaks, the lot of them, waiting to watch twenty-three kids from the districts die. Well, she thought to herself, they wouldn't watch her die; she would make sure of that. And, since she knew the odds of her winning the Games were almost non-existent, that meant there was only one way she could deny the Capitol that particular bit of fun. She walked towards the railing around the edge of the roof and prepared to climb up, fully intending to throw herself onto the street far below.

But the moment she attempted to climb onto the railing, an invisible force pushed her back onto the roof. At the same time, she heard Ganymede's voice behind her. "I wouldn't try that again if I were you." She turned to see him standing in the doorway through which she had entered the roof. "The whole roof's surrounded by a force-field," he explained. "It makes sure no tributes can try any stunts like the one you were planning. Can't have any of you kids cheating the public of the chance to see you on national television."

April mentally filled in the word "die" between "you" and "on", but she allowed Ganymede to lead her away from the edge of the roof all the same. Her decision to jump off had been made on impulse and she now realised there was no way any of the tributes would be allowed to kill themselves before they reached the arena. So she followed Ganymede back inside, where she would shortly be given her first meal since arriving in the Capitol, after which she would sit down with the rest of her party to watch the recap of the tribute parade.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

April took aim and hurled the spear at the dummy which had been set up for target practice. The spear penetrated the dummy through the abdomen, inflicting what would almost certainly be a fatal wound in a human being. And April was all too aware that she and the other twenty-three tributes would soon be doing this for real, that they would be using weapons not against inanimate dummies, but against each other. For two days now, the tributes had been training for the Games, learning how to trap game, build fires, identify edible plants . . . and so on. But, most importantly, they had been learning how to handle weapons.

For the Career tributes, this was simply a matter of honing skills they already had. But most of the others were complete novices when it came to handling a sword, or a mace, or any of the other weapons on offer. And they only had three days in which to learn, three days in which to pick up skills which the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 had spent years mastering. April recalled how, as soon as the briefing given on the first day of training was over, the Careers had headed straight for the weapons-training stations, picked up the deadliest weapons on offer and handled them with the ease that came from years of practice.

Right now, all six of them were at the archery station and there was another tribute with them, Iago from District 5. April wondered why the Careers were allowing him to hang around with them. He did not seem like the sort of exceptional fighter they normally invited to join their pack; though he had shown some skill with a sword, Faberge and Candida far outclassed him. One thing was clear, however. The Careers would kill him as soon as he was of no further use to them - which, in his case, would probably happen sooner rather than later.

At the archery station, Iago took aim with one of the bows - and missed the target completely, prompting a chorus of jeers from the Careers. Agrippina, holding another bow, elbowed him out of the way. "Here, let me show you how it's done," she said, fitting an arrow to her bow. Standing with one foot slightly in front of the other, she pulled back on her bowstring and released the arrow. Seconds later, the arrow hit the target dead centre. At the same time, an argument broke out between Flint and Reef; from what April could hear, it seemed it was Reef who had invited Iago to join the Career pack in the first place. But why?

Before she had time to wonder, Reef suddenly leapt at Flint, knocking him to the floor. Seconds later, both boys were grappling with each other, as the rest of the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 cheered them on. Iago, meanwhile, seemed to be considering whether he should attempt to separate them, risking the possibility of getting punched in the face for his troubles, but it turned out that he didn't have to bother.

"Oi! No fighting in the Training Centre! Save it for the arena!"

Two burly trainers had come hurrying across the gym as soon as the fight broke out. They quickly pulled Flint and Reef apart, keeping a firm grip on them to make sure they couldn't get at each other again. "Have you finished?" the one holding Flint asked. Flint nodded, sensing that he would not be released until he did. "And you?" the trainer said to Reef, who also nodded. "Good. Now, I suggest you go get cleaned up - it's almost time for lunch. And, if you want to practice hand-to-hand combat, ask one of the assistants at the wrestling station."

* * *

><p>At lunch, April noticed that Reef and Iago did not join the Careers' table; instead, they found a table of their own and sat down opposite each other. Iago sighed. "Looks like I've blown it with you guys. And Flint's probably gonna kill us first chance he gets - you know what those District 2 kids are like."<p>

"Then we'll just have to make sure we kill him first," said Reef. "After all, there's two of us and only one of him, even if he is from 2."

"But it's not just him. He'll have four other tributes to back him up." Iago shook his head. "No, I think we should break away from the pack, operate with just the two of us. It'll give us chance to . . ." He lowered his voice slightly. ". . . get to know each other better."

Something about the way Reef and Iago were looking at each other made April look at them more closely. Even though they were tributes and could therefore never be anything more than allies, it seemed they had struck up a close friendship. More than a close friendship, in fact; the way Iago said "get to know each other better" made it sound as if he was courting a girl. But that, April sensed, was something he would never do, even if he hadn't been reaped; he had no interest in girls as anything more than friends. And neither did Reef.

But it made little difference what Reef and Iago's feelings towards each other were. They were tributes and that meant one or both of them would be dead within a matter of weeks at the most. It was even possible that they might end up having to kill each other, which made April wonder if one of them was planning to use the other for his own pleasure, then kill him. There was nothing in the rules to prevent this; indeed, once the Games began, each tribute would be allowed to do anything he or she liked to any of the other twenty-three, short of eating them. Even though the people in the Capitol were happy to watch kids from the districts kill each other every year, there were things at which even they drew the line. And cannibalism was one of them.

April dismissed Reef and Iago from her mind and joined Simm at a table at the opposite end of the dining room.

* * *

><p>April and Simm remained silent for several seconds before Simm spoke. "What's going on? Why isn't the guy from 4 sitting with the other Careers?"<p>

April responded with a shrug. "It's probably nothing," she replied. "But I think he's decided to team up with the boy from 5 instead." She considered whether to voice her suspicions about why Reef and Iago had teamed up, but decided not to. Instead, she chose to change the subject. "So what have you been doing this morning?"

"Edible berries," said Simm, speaking through a mouthful of chicken. "That girl from 11, Almond, was there too. She knows all about plants, but I supposed she would, being from the agriculture district. Then I did knife-throwing - I nearly hit the target." He looked proud of this achievement, but April knew only too well that, when it came to the Hunger Games, nearly hitting the target wasn't good enough.

"Well, I've been chucking spears all morning," she said. "And I'm getting quite good at it. Not as good as the Careers, but at least I can hit the target most of the . . ." She trailed off as it suddenly occurred to her that, in only a few days, she could be hitting a living, human target, one of her fellow tributes. It might even be the boy sitting opposite her; just because he was her district partner didn't mean she was forbidden to attack him. Indeed, it wasn't unknown for tributes to be killed by their own partners, especially if they both made it to the latter stages. But April knew she and Simm were unlikely to make it that far; more likely, they would both fall in the first few days of the Games. The odds never favoured tributes from District 12. Viola had done well to make it as far as the final nine, but that was when her luck ran out, when she was attacked and killed by the girl from District 1.

And, April knew, it was only a question of time before she and Simm were also killed. But, no matter what happened, she was determined not to kill him if she could avoid it, even though she would be well within the rules to do so. The Careers might not have any qualms about killing twelve- and thirteen-year-olds - she had seen them do it in previous Hunger Games - but she was not a Career. Unlike Velvet, Faberge, Agrippina, Flint, Candida and Reef, she had not spent her childhood being trained for the arena. And, while she had picked up some weapons skills since arriving at the Training Centre, she wondered if she would ever be able to use those skills against any of her fellow tributes.

Perhaps she would, if she found herself in a situation where it was kill or be killed. But she was not going to initiate any attacks on anyone, especially not on the weaker tributes like Simm or Adeline. The latter was, at 4'3", the smallest of this year's tributes and April had a feeling some of the Careers were marking her out as a target already.

* * *

><p>The following afternoon was taken up with the private sessions, the point where each tribute was given fifteen minutes alone with the Gamemakers to demonstrate one of the skills taught during training. Each tribute would then be given a score out of twelve, based on how well (or how badly) they had done and the scores would be announced in a live television broadcast that evening. Naturally, this was mandatory viewing. Faberge, as the boy tribute from District 1, was the first to be called; the private sessions were the only time in the Games when it wasn't ladies first. His fellow Careers (minus Reef, who was sitting with Iago) flashed him a collective thumbs up signal as he left the dining room and made his way to the gym.<p>

April watched as the dining room gradually emptied. Velvet, Flint, Agrippina, Newton, Data, Reef, Candida . . . one by one, her fellow tributes were called out of lunch. Eventually, only five of them were left: Petunia from District 10, Almond and Pod from 11, herself and Simm from 12. The others looked as nervous as she felt, April thought; they must be wondering if the skills they had chosen to demonstrate would be enough to impress the Gamemakers.

Petunia was called, then Pod, then Almond. Now the dining room was empty apart from April and Simm, the tributes from the one district which had never had a tribute in the final eight. April found herself thinking about Viola, wondering if she had been this nervous this time last year. Probably, but she had no way of knowing; Viola was dead, a victim of the Hunger Games. Nor did April have any way of knowing what Viola had shown the Gamemakers - that information was strictly confidential - but she remembered the score her friend had received: five points. Viola had always said five was her lucky number - indeed, she had managed to survive longer than any previous District 12 tribute. But, six days into last year's Games, her luck had run out.

"Simm Austin, report to the Gym."

On hearing his name, Simm got up and turned to walk out of the dining room. At the last moment, he paused in the doorway and looked back at his district partner. "April," he said, "good luck."

"You too," replied April. And, with that, Simm walked out the door and headed for the gym where the Gamemakers were waiting for him.

* * *

><p>Simm stepped through the doors to find the Gamemakers sitting around a table, with Head Gamemaker Augustus Phelps occupying the ornate chair in the middle. It was Augustus, a middle-aged man whose hair was dyed dark purple, who had designed the arena into which the tributes would soon be sent. From then on, he and the other Gamemakers would monitor the tributes constantly, until all but one of them had died; if necessary, they would also manipulate the environment within the arena to force the tributes into confrontations, preventing the Games from becoming dull. Right now, however, his main concern was watching what each of this latest batch of tributes could do.<p>

"What skill are you going to demonstrate?" he asked Simm.

Simm replied by walking over to the knot-tying station, picking up several lengths of rope and carrying them over to the Gamemakers' table. Several Gamemakers frowned - they had already sat through four knot-tying demonstrations today - and Simm wondered if he should have chosen another skill. But it was too late now; he had picked knot-tying and that was the skill he would have to demonstrate. But, since it was such a basic skill, he would have to do exceptionally well at it if he wanted to impress the men and women sitting before him.

He started with a basic knot, then, seeing that the Gamemakers were not particularly impressed by this, decided to try something more ambitious. Namely a complex knot which he had seen Candida and Reef from District 4 pull off with ease. The only problem was, they had had years of practice as a result of spending their lives on District 4's fishing boats, whereas he had only learned about that particular knot three days ago. And, when he tried to manipulate two of the ropes he had brought across from the knot-tying station into the knot he was trying to demonstrate, he soon got into a hopeless muddle. Again and again he attempted to tie the knot. Again and again he got it wrong. He felt himself beginning to panic, couldn't even remember the difference between left and right.

At length, Augustus stepped in. "Well, I think we've seen all we need to see. You may go now."

Simm left the gym without looking back, or even returning the ropes he had been using to the knot-tying station. As he rode the elevator to the twelfth floor, all he could think of was the fact that he would be lucky to score more than about four points.

* * *

><p>When she entered the gym, April headed straight for the shelter-building station and selected the materials she needed. Returning to the centre of the room, she began to construct a crude shelter out of branches, one which would protect a tribute from the elements but could also be demolished quickly if necessary. There might be tents in the Cornucopia, but this couldn't be guaranteed and, even when they were available, they tended to be claimed by the Careers. So it was useful to know how to build a shelter out of natural materials and that was the skill April had chosen to demonstrate.<p>

April worked without pause and, when her fifteen minutes were up, she had constructed a shelter which, though not quite complete, did at least demonstrate the skills involved. She inspected her handiwork, thinking to herself that she could soon be doing it for real, not just as a demonstration for the Gamemakers. Of course, she would have to get past the bloodbath first and, if she did that, she would be lucky to survive beyond the first couple of days.

"You may go now, Miss Willis," said Augustus, taking a sip from a glass of red wine. April, not wanting to be in the same room as the man who would shortly be overseeing the deaths of twenty-three kids a moment longer, did as he had instructed. As soon as she had gone, the Gamemakers began their deliberations, discussing the skills each tribute had demonstrated and how well that skill had been executed. Naturally, the Careers had all demonstrated weapons skills, but the only other tributes who had even attempted to do so were Iago from District 5 and Taurus from District 10. Everyone else had shown off various survival skills - fire-making, camouflage, knot-tying . . . and so on - with varying degrees of success.

* * *

><p>April and Simm, along with Ganymede (and Dido and Bacchus, who had arrived to prepare the tributes for their pre-Games interviews) sat round the television as the Capitol seal appeared on the screen. Seconds later, Andreas Greenwood, the man who had hosted the Hunger Games from the beginning, appeared, dressed in his usual plum-coloured jacket. Every year for as long as April and Simm remembered, he had been an annual fixture on television, commentating on the Games, analysing the tributes' strategies and, as he was about to do now, announcing the training scores. These scores would be used by Capitol citizens wishing to bet on the Games to help them decide which tributes to back, but a high training score was no guarantee that a tribute would emerge as victor. In fact, the opposite could be true, especially if a tribute from outside the Career districts scored highly. A high score could mean the tribute was seen as competition.<p>

"And now the moment you've all been waiting for," said Andreas. "The training scores for the tributes in the Sixteenth Hunger Games. First up - Faberge West, District 1 male." A picture of Faberge appeared on the screen. "Nine points!" A number 9 appeared below Faberge's picture, which remained onscreen for about a minute before being replaced by a picture of his district partner. "Velvet Neville, District 1 female. Nine points!" A 9 appeared below Velvet's picture, matching the one which had appeared below Faberge's.

The announcement of the training scores continued. Flint also received a nine, Agrippina a ten, Newton and Data a four each, Reef a ten, Candida a nine, Iago a six, Delia a four . . . In fact, most of the tributes from outside the Career districts achieved what were at best average scores, generally around four to six points. The only one to score higher was Helen, who received an eight. Then it was the turn of the tributes from District 12.

Simm's picture appeared on the screen. "Simm Austin, District 12 male," said Andreas. "Two points!" As the number 2 appeared below his picture, Simm looked at it in disbelief, thinking there must have been a mistake. He knew he had messed up badly during his private session, but a two?! Unless April had done even worse than him, that was the lowest training score of all the twenty-four tributes, which meant any slim hope of attracting sponsors he might have had was gone. Without waiting for the broadcast to end, he got up and walked out of the room, heading for his quarters. As a result, he didn't hear when Andreas announced:

"April Willis, District 12 female. Seven points!"

* * *

><p>April was pleased to have achieved the second highest score of all the tributes from outside the Career districts. But she couldn't help thinking of how bad Simm must be feeling to have scored so low; even little Adeline had managed a five. Indeed, no tribute had ever received a training score lower than three - until now. And it just had to be a District 12 tribute who achieved that dubious honour, no doubt adding to their reputation as perpetual losers. And that, April decided, meant Simm would need cheering up.<p>

She made her way over to his quarters and knocked on the door. "Simm?" she called. "It's April. May I come in?"

"I'm not stopping you," Simm's voice replied from within.

She opened the door and entered Simm's quarters, the layout of which was identical to her own. Plush furniture, loads of electronic gadgets, the whole room big enough to accommodate one of the houses in the Seam and have space to spare . . . The only difference was the fact that the wardrobe was filled with a selection of boys' clothing. Seeing Simm lying face-down on the bed, she walked up to him and touched him on the shoulder. "Hey. Are you all right?"

Simm sat up, brushing at his eyes; April had a feeling she knew why, but decided not to mention it out loud. "Of course I'm not all right!" he retorted. "I got a lousy two! And that means I've got about zero chance in these Games!"

April refrained from pointing out that he would have had about zero chance in the Games anyway. "Well, a high score doesn't necessarily mean a tribute's going to win," she told him. "Besides, maybe the Careers - if that's what you're worried about - will think you did badly on purpose and stay away from you." But, even as she said those words, she knew she was clutching at straws. She knew only too well that few tributes less than fourteen years old lasted long in the arena. And it was extremely unlikely that the Careers would believe Simm had deliberately scored low.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The tributes paraded onto the stage which had been set up in front of the Training Centre in preparation for tonight's interviews. Velvet, as the female tribute from District 1, took the lead, looking stunningly beautiful in a sequined gown of purple satin, a silver tiara on her head, her golden hair pinned up in an elaborate bun. Behind her came the other twenty-three tributes, most of them looking decidedly nervous. And not just about the interviews - they all knew some of them had a matter of hours to live.

Second from the rear, April felt her heart pounding as she stepped onto the stage with the other tributes. In just over an hour, she would be facing Marcus Flickerman, the man who, every year for as long as she could remember, had interviewed the tributes on the night before they went into the arena. The previous day, each of the tributes had spent time with their escorts and mentors, working on how they were going to present themselves, what angle they were going to adopt. It was important that they make a good impression, as this was the last chance they had to attract sponsors; all sponsorship deals had to be sealed by the first morning of the Games.

As far as April was concerned, it didn't make much difference how she presented herself; it was unlikely she would attract many sponsors anyway. But Ganymede had insisted that she and Simm had to at least try to appeal to the audience and had spent several hours grilling them on their body language, on the way they spoke when they answered questions, on how they should approach the interviews in order to present themselves in the best possible light. "You never know," he had said. "But this might be District 12's year." April, however, suspected he had said that every year since the Games began. And, so far, that prediction had yet to come true.

After the unflattering "sack of coal" costumes from the tribute parade, April had been dreading the moment when Dido unveiled her interview outfit. But it turned out that she didn't have to worry; the dress she was wearing tonight was an elegant midnight blue gown, with matching shoes. Around her neck, she wore a simple pearl necklace and there were more pearls in her hair in the form of two matching grips, one on either side. Her hair had been left loose to tumble around her shoulders in a cascade of golden tresses. Looking at her, few would have imagined that she was about to take part in a game where she would have to kill or be killed.

Next to her, Simm was wearing a black suit, white dress shirt and cumberbund in the same shade of blue as April's gown. He looked somewhat self-conscious, having never worn a formal suit before; when the tributes took their seats on the stage, it was all he could do to resist the urge to try and make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Which would have been easier said than done anyway, since the whole of Panem was watching right now. Not only was every television set in the country tuned in, the interviews had a sizeable live audience, including all the escorts, mentors and stylists. Simm could see Bacchus sitting near the front, sporting an orange wig tonight; next to him, Dido wore her usual platinum blonde ringlets. And Ganymede was nearby, his hair still dyed white with pink streaks.

The tributes took their seats on the stage and waited for the master of ceremonies to make his entrance.

* * *

><p>Marcus Flickerman strutted onto the stage, dressed in a golden suit, his hair dyed its customary shade of snow white. This was the look he had sported every year since the Hunger Games began and it was the look he would continue to sport until his son, Caesar, took over the tribute interviews sixteen years later. "Hello, Panem!" he shouted, prompting a wild cheer from the assembled audience. "Happy Hunger Games!"<p>

"And may the odds be ever in your favour!" chorused the audience. April, sitting with the other tributes, wondered how many of them had already made up their minds about which tributes they were going to back, who they were going to be rooting for in the coming days and weeks. Not that it made much difference to her; with District 12's record, she would be lucky if even one Capitol citizen decided to bet on her. And as for attracting sponsors . . . Her thoughts were cut off abruptly as Marcus finished warming up the audience and called Velvet forward for her interview.

"So, Velvet," Marcus said, as Velvet sat down opposite him, "you're District 1's female tribute this year. How does that make you feel?"

"Like I'm ready for anything," Velvet replied. "Like I can go all the way in these Games. We District 1 tributes are more than just ornaments, whatever our names might suggest. And, when I come out of the arena, I mean to come out as a victor." Trouble was, there were other tributes who were just as determined to win, but only one of them could; the rest would soon be dead. However, when Marcus put this point to her, Velvet brushed it aside. "I'm sure that's true, but I'm one of the best fighters this year. Just because I'm from District 1 doesn't mean I'm some airheaded bimbo."

Velvet's interview lasted exactly three minutes, before a buzzer sounded and she stepped aside to make way for Faberge. Dressed in a purple shirt covered in sequins, black trousers and shiny leather shoes (also black) he took his place opposite Marcus. His angle proved to be one April had seen male tributes from District 1 adopt before: the ladies' man who went into the arena for the sole purpose of impressing girls. That, it seemed, was why he had volunteered; the boy he had replaced had an older sister whom he had fancied for years. "Well, you win the Games and I'm sure she'll be all over you when you get home," said Marcus, as the buzzer sounded to announce the end of Faberge's interview.

Both Agrippina, wearing a burgundy gown, and Flint, whose suit was slate grey, adopted more or less the same angle; they presented themselves as fighters who would do whatever it took to win. The kind of angle favoured by tributes from District 2, though April paid little attention to the actual content of their interviews. Nor did she take much notice when Data, Newton and Candida went up to Marcus in turn; she was too busy counting the tributes ahead of her, trying to work out how long she would have to wait before it was her turn to be interviewed.

* * *

><p>Reef, dressed in an ocean blue suit, stepped forward for his interview. He came across as being very friendly and open, smiling at the audience as he answered Marcus's questions, though April noticed that his smiles seemed to be directed more at the men. She had a feeling she knew why and, when Marcus asked if Reef had a girlfriend in District 4, Reef's answer confirmed it.<p>

"No, I don't."

"What?! A handsome guy like you should have girls falling at your feet! Are you sure there isn't a special someone you're trying to get home to?" Marcus asked, winking for the benefit of the cameras.

"That's just it," Reef replied. "I don't have a girlfriend and nor am I likely to have one any time soon. I have friends who are girls, but I don't look at girls in that way, if you know what I mean. I prefer guys." He shifted in his seat. "But, no, I don't have a "special someone" as you put it, not one who's waiting for me back home anyway." April noticed that Reef's gaze had shifted towards Iago and, as she had done during the training period, she found herself wondering if there was indeed something going on between them. But, if there was, there could be no future in it; Reef and Iago were tributes and that meant at least one of them would soon be dead. Even if they had been a boy and a girl, it would have made no difference.

Before Marcus could ask any more questions, the buzzer sounded and Reef returned to his seat. The interviews continued. Delia, Iago, Zoe, Columbus, Artemis and Logan stepped forward in turn, talked to Marcus for three minutes, then moved aside to make way for the next tribute. Seven districts down, five to go. Only eight more interviews until it would be April's turn to go up and face Marcus. She found herself wishing she could have been born in one of the lower-numbered districts, so that she could have been among the first tributes to be interviewed. Instead, she had to wait until near the end, with only Simm to follow her.

Meanwhile, she watched as Adeline stepped forward and made her way over to Marcus. The girl tribute from District 8, who looked much younger than her twelve years, wore a red velvet dress with matching ribbons in her copper-coloured hair. April could tell from the "ahhs" issuing from the audience that they thought Adeline was the most adorable of this year's batch of tributes. Unfortunately, cuteness did not win the Hunger Games.

"Now, Adeline," said Marcus, smiling at the small girl sitting opposite him, her feet barely scraping the floor. "You're the smallest tribute in these Games. Do you think this will put you at a disadvantage?"

Adeline didn't hesitate to answer. "No, actually I think it could be an advantage. I'll be able to get into places where the other tributes can't get. And I've learned as much as I could at the Training Centre about how to survive in the wild. So I think I'm still in with a chance." A very slim chance, April thought to herself. Not only was Adeline smaller than any of the other tributes, she also came from the urban sprawl that was District 8. And that meant, no matter what Adeline said, it was unlikely she would last long once the Games began.

Adeline's district partner, Quilt, was the next tribute to be interviewed, followed by Helen from District 9, whose dress was dusky pink. She came across as someone with a good sense of humour, joking with Marcus, exchanging banter, though she brushed aside his praise for getting the highest training score of all the tributes who came from outside the Career districts. "I did well at what I did, that's all," she said. But she didn't elaborate on what she had done; apart from herself and the rest of the District 9 entourage, only the Gamemakers were supposed to know. Marcus quickly changed the subject.

"So, is there anyone in District 9 you'd like to give a special mention to?"

"Yes, my little sister," replied Helen. "Her name's Bella and she's six years old." She waved at the camera, imagining as she did so her sister watching the interviews with their parents in District 9, if she hadn't fallen asleep. "Hi, Bella! I'll see you again real soon!" A promise she was unlikely to be able to keep, but she felt she had to say it for Bella's sake; the child was barely old enough to grasp what being chosen as a tribute really meant. Of the twenty-four kids who would be sent to the arena tomorrow, only one would come back alive.

To April, the next few interviews seemed to flash by, barely giving her time to focus on what the tributes were saying. Alexander, Petunia, Taurus, Almond, Pod . . . Then, her name was called and, hurriedly composing herself, she stepped forward.

* * *

><p>"So, April, how does the Capitol compare to District 12?" asked Marcus.<p>

April considered her answer carefully; she couldn't risk saying anything that might be interpreted as criticising the Capitol, especially when this was being broadcast live across Panem. If she did, she would almost certainly be made to pay for it in the arena. But it wasn't only herself she was worried about; her whole family could suffer if she said the wrong thing. They could all be killed as an example to others, or next year's reaping could be rigged to make sure Faith and Otto both ended up in the arena. And that was the last thing April wanted; it was bad enough that her parents were almost certainly going to lose her to the Games, but to lose all three of their children that way . . . No, she must watch what she said.

"It's much bigger," she said at last. "And the food is like nothing I've ever tasted before. My parents are quite well off compared to some people in 12, but even they can't afford half the stuff on offer here. And I'm still getting used to having electricity all the time. Back home, we . . ." She trailed off, fearing she might be about to reveal too much about the day-to-day hardships of life in District 12. The Capitol tried to keep the people of Panem ignorant of what went on in each other's districts, even if the information seemed completely innocent.

"I see," said Marcus. "And are you enjoying your time with us?"

"Well, I've been too busy training for the Games to even think about enjoying myself." April knew she couldn't say that she felt like a prisoner here, that, given a choice between the Capitol and District 12, she would prefer to be in the latter. So she carefully stepped around Marcus's question, giving an answer that was neither positive nor negative.

The questions continued, covering topics ranging from the other tributes to April's friends and family back in District 12. April tried to answer them as fully as possible, though she found talking about those she had left behind painful. She knew she would probably never see them again, that she was likely to suffer the same fate as every previous District 12 tribute. Then, Marcus asked her if she felt she was ready for the arena.

"If I'm not, it's too late now," she replied. "But I like to think I'm as ready as I'll ever be and that my best friend will be watching over me." April's thoughts had suddenly turned to Viola. A year ago tonight, it had been Viola facing Marcus, while April watched from her home in District 12; now, Viola was dead and it was April who was being interviewed on what could be the last night of her life. "She was in the Games last year," she added, allowing the audience to draw the inference themselves.

"Yes, I remember," said Marcus. "Viola Henshaw, wasn't it? She did quite well for a District 12 tribute, I recall. Ninth place. Do you think you can go as far as she did?"

"Hopefully even further," said April, even though she knew it was unlikely. Given District 12's record, she knew she would be lucky if she made it past the first two days in the arena. If she was still alive after a week, it would be a miracle; even Viola hadn't lasted that long. Seconds later, the buzzer sounded, signalling that April's interview was over and that she must return to her place among her fellow tributes.

* * *

><p>Simm took his place opposite Marcus and the final interview of the evening began. "So, Simm," said Marcus, "what's the most exciting thing about being in the Capitol?"<p>

"Having a room bigger than my parents' house," Simm replied. He had never had a room of his own before; back in District 12, he had always had to share with his parents and his sister, Rowena. Not only that, he and Rowena had, until he turned ten, shared a bed, as most siblings did in the Seam, though two brothers or two sisters might continue to sleep in the same bed long after a brother and a sister had been given separate beds. His parents' house consisted of a single room, with only a curtain (a luxury which not every Seam family had) to separate it into sleeping and living areas.

Marcus's next few questions largely revolved around Simm's friends and family. Then, the subject of his training score came up. "You got the lowest score since the Games began sixteen years ago," said Marcus. "How does that make you feel?"

Simm shifted uncomfortably in his seat, recalling the moment when he learned that he had only received a two, recalling how he had retreated to his room immediately after. "Disappointed," he replied. "I knew I'd done badly, but I didn't think I'd done that badly. But I'm not going to let it get me down," he added with more bravado than he felt. "I mean, tributes with high scores don't always win, do they?"

"Yes, that's certainly true," said Marcus, smiling encouragingly. He was about to ask another question, but, before he could do so, the buzzer sounded. "Well, it looks like our time is up. So I'll just say one thing before you go: good luck." But everyone knew it would take a great deal of luck for Simm, a twelve-year-old from the poorest district in Panem to win, or even do well in, the Games. He was the kind of tribute who tended to get killed early on, as the stronger tributes weeded out their weaker competitors.

For now, though, Simm joined the other tributes and they stood in a row with their heads held high as the national anthem began to play.

* * *

><p>April stood by her bedroom window, gazing out over the Capitol, the city with its bright lights and gaudily dressed people, the city which had ruled Panem since before she could remember, the city which was currently celebrating the fact that twenty-three young people were going to die. Soon, those people down below could be cheering on one of her fellow tributes as he or she speared her, or shot her with an arrow, or slit her throat. There were any number of ways in which a tribute might be killed, though not always by a fellow tribute. The Gamemakers invariably set traps in the arena and April had seen a few tributes die in this way over the years. Nor were they above engineering "natural" disasters, such as the tidal wave which had killed four tributes in the Thirteenth Games. And then there were the mutts - muttations, to use their full name - genetically engineered animals bred as living weapons.<p>

During the Dark Days following the rebellion, the Capitol had used a number of these creatures against the districts. Afterwards, they had become a regular feature of the Hunger Games, unleashed on tributes to give the viewers a little added "entertainment"; they were another common cause of death in the arena. And the ways in which mutts killed their victims were for the most part not pretty. One year, a boy had had his head torn off by a gorilla mutt; another Games had seen two tributes killed by the poisonous gas emitted by a colony of toad mutts.

April shook her head. This wouldn't do at all; dwelling on the possible ways in which she might die in the arena would do her no good at all. If she wanted to stand even a slim chance in the Games, she needed to get as much rest as she could tonight, even though it could be the last night she ever saw. In the arena, tributes who gave in to fatigue risked ending up dead. So she withdrew from the window, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out thoughts of what her fate might be in the coming days.

The next thing she remembered was being woken by Dido, given a simple shift to wear and led out onto the roof, where she had not been since her first night in the Capitol. A hovercraft appeared overhead and a ladder dropped down; following Dido's instructions, she grasped the rungs and was immediately frozen into position. In this frozen state, she was lifted into the hovercraft, where a tracking device was injected into her arm. From now on, the Gamemakers would be able to keep tabs on her wherever she went; they would even be able to tell if she was alive or dead.

She was on her way to the arena.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As the hovercraft neared its destination, the windows were blacked out, preventing April from seeing where she was going. This was standard practice; none of the tributes were allowed to see the arena until they emerged from the Launch Rooms. Below each arena there was a network of underground rooms where the tributes made their final preparations and were issued with the clothes they would wear in the arena. This was also the point at which their district tokens would be returned to them - if they hadn't been rejected by the Gamemakers, though April had little reason to fear that her silver ring would be confiscated as a potential weapon. After all, Viola had worn it into the arena just last year.

The hovercraft landed and April and Dido - the stylists always accompanied the tributes as far as the Launch Rooms - descended the ladder into the vast network of underground rooms. Then they made their way to the Launch Room which had been allocated to the female tribute from District 12, the room from which April would shortly be launched into the arena. No other tribute would ever use that Launch Room; the arena would be preserved once the Games were over, preserved as a tourist attraction for wealthy Capitol citizens. But April gave no thought to that as she showered and cleaned her teeth. She was wondering what sort of arena she would be launched into. A marsh? A frozen tundra? A valley? But she would have no way of knowing until the moment for launch came.

In the meantime, she dressed herself in the clothes with which she had been issued: undergarments, white socks, sturdy brown lace-up shoes, dark blue trousers, a brown leather belt, a blue-and-white checked shirt and a brown jacket. An identical set of clothing had been issued to each of the other tributes. When April was fully dressed, Dido had her move around to make sure everything fitted comfortably, then handed her the ring which had originally been Viola's. April debated whether she should put it on her finger, but eventually slipped it into her pocket, having decided in would be safer there. Now, all she had to do was wait, wait until it was time for her to be launched into the arena. The arena, the place twenty-three kids would not leave alive . . .

April had no idea how long she had been sitting there, trying in vain to think of anything other than the fact that she could be dead by the end of the day; there was no clock in the Launch Room and she wasn't wearing a watch. But eventually a voice issuing from speakers concealed in the room told her to prepare for launch and, taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and crossed the room to stand on a metal plate. A glass tube descended around her and the plate began to rise, carrying her into the arena.

* * *

><p>She emerged in a forest clearing; the Cornucopia had been placed in the centre and the twenty-four tributes were standing on plates around the edge. In the same instant, she and her fellow tributes heard the projected voice of Andreas Greenwood, though it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixteenth Hunger Games begin!" That was the cue for the sixty-second countdown, the period when the tributes were not allowed to move from their plates. If any of them were foolish enough to disregard this, mines placed around each plate would blow them to kingdom come; only when the minute was up would they be able to move safely.<p>

April used the sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes. On either side of her stood Delia from District 5 and Almond from District 11; Simm was concealed from her view by the Cornucopia, the mouth of which was laden with supplies. She could see backpacks, crates of food, piles of clothing, sleeping bags, bottles of water and various other items which might come in useful in the wilderness. But the supplies did not just include items which could help to keep a tribute alive; there were weapons too, weapons which could kill. For example, directly in April's line of sight, a sword had been propped against a crate, just waiting for a tribute to pick it up and thrust it into someone's belly.

A gong sounded, signalling that the sixty seconds were up. Seconds later, all the tributes were off their plates and fighting over the supplies in the Cornucopia, though most of the good stuff would end up being claimed by the Careers; the others would be lucky if they got away with any supplies at all. April snatched up the first item she came across, a length of rope, then sprinted in a little further to try and claim a blue backpack which she could see nearby. However, Delia had set her sights on the same backpack and reached it a fraction of a second before April.

"Oh no you don't!" April thought, as Delia reached out to take the pack. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, April tackled the District 5 girl to the ground, looped the length of rope around her neck and began to pull it tight. Delia struggled to break free, but April seemed to be possessed by something which gave her added strength, which enabled her to keep on pulling the rope tighter until Delia's struggles finally ceased. The moment they did, April let go of the rope and looked down at her victim, shaking as she realised what she had done. She had strangled Delia, just as the District 1 girl in last year's Games had strangled Viola.

She had to get away from here. Snatching up the pack which she and Delia had both been trying to claim, she began to run, not caring where she went as long as it was away from the Cornucopia and the bloodbath which was now going on there. It was as well she moved when she did because Agrippina had been about to shoot her in the back with an arrow; instead, the District 2 girl fired the arrow at Pod from District 11, catching him right between the eyes. He slumped to the ground, a look of astonishment permanently etched on his face, an arrow sticking out of his forehead.

Before she disappeared into the trees, April looked back at the Cornucopia. Most of her fellow tributes were hacking away at one another, though a few had also taken flight and three lay unmoving on the ground. April knew one of the dead tributes was Delia, but she had no idea who the other two were, having not seen either of them fall.

* * *

><p>April continued running, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between herself and her fellow tributes. She knew it was only a question of time before the cannons started to fire, signalling that the fighting at the Cornucopia had ceased, that all the tributes who were still alive had left the scene.<p>

And there it was, the first blast of cannon fire heard in the Sixteenth Hunger Games. More shots followed, one for every tribute who had fallen at the Cornucopia. Pausing, April counted nine in total, meaning nine tributes had died in this year's bloodbath; fifteen remained, including herself. She wondered who else was still alive - definitely not Delia, but what about the others? Almost certainly the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 had all survived; since the first Career pack was formed at the Seventh Games, there had only been one year in which a tribute from one of the Career districts had died on the first day. And it had only happened once before that. Was Simm still alive? April hadn't seen him since last night, but she knew he must have been at the Cornucopia. Had he managed to get clear, or was he one of the nine corpses about to be collected up and taken back to the Capitol to be cleaned up ready for their final journeys to their respective districts?

In the end, she decided there was no point in dwelling on it. She would find out tonight when the faces of the dead tributes were projected into the sky. In the meantime, she would check her backpack to see what it contained, what she had in terms of supplies. Unzipping the pack, she quickly looked through the contents, constantly listening for any sounds which might indicate that one or more of her fellow tributes were nearby. She was particularly concerned about the Career pack, who would surely be unable to pass up the chance to take her out should they find her, especially since she was unarmed. Still, they were probably too busy dividing up the spoils at the Cornucopia, which should give the other tributes a little breathing space.

April's pack held the following items: a packet of crackers, two packets of dried beef, a litre bottle of water, a box of matches, a first aid kit, a pair of gloves, a saucepan with a folding handle and a blanket. The latter was designed to fold up very small, but was large enough to cover her when it was unfolded. Checking the first aid kit, she found dressings, antiseptic, painkillers and a small pair of scissors. She frowned as she examined the scissors; they would certainly be good for cutting bandages, but they wouldn't be much use as a weapon. Unless she could somehow poison the blades . . .

She looked up with a start. What was happening to her? She had already killed Delia for no reason other than the fact that both of them were after the same backpack. And now she was thinking about putting poison on a pair of scissors with a view to stabbing someone with them. Was being in the arena changing her already? Was she turning into one of those tributes whose only thought was to kill as many of their opponents as possible? Until today, she would never have thought herself capable of killing anyone, especially not in the same way Viola had been killed. Nevertheless, she had killed; a girl she had only met a few days ago was dead because of her.

However, all this was purely academic; she currently had no means of killing anyone. She had left the rope she had used to strangle Delia behind when she fled the Cornucopia and she had no access to anything toxic. So poisoning the scissors she had found in her first aid kit wasn't an option either. She quickly repacked the items she had taken out of her pack. "Better get going," she thought out loud, "and hope I don't run into anyone. Especially the Careers."

* * *

><p>Though April continued walking all day, she did not run into any of her fellow tributes. But she knew they were out there, fourteen of them, some of them out to kill while the rest were simply trying to avoid being killed. At present, she fell into the latter category; her only wish was to keep herself alive for as long as possible, which probably wouldn't be very long. Even if she could avoid the Careers for a few days, the Gamemakers would not allow her to do so indefinitely. They would eventually take steps to drive the tributes together, force them into a confrontation; she had seen them do it before.<p>

And, though she had her supply of crackers, dried beef and water, she knew these would not last forever. Sooner or later, they would begin to run out and she would find out just why the Hunger Games were called the Hunger Games. If she wanted to avoid death from starvation or dehydration, she would face two choices: attempt to live off the land or try to steal supplies from the Careers and risk getting caught in one of the traps they must have rigged. Not content with getting the lion's share of the supplies at the Cornucopia, the Careers almost invariably took steps to keep the other tributes from helping themselves to anything from their stash. Right now, however, it didn't matter. If she was careful, her supplies should last her a few days - if she could avoid the Careers.

As night fell, she made camp among the trees, wrapping herself in her blanket. She ate a cracker and a strip of beef and drank some of her water; this was the first time she had eaten or drunk anything since she had breakfast on the hovercraft which brought her to the arena. She was just putting her supplies back in her pack when she heard the opening bars of the national anthem and looked through a gap in the trees to see the Capitol seal hovering over the arena. And then the faces started to appear, the faces of the nine dead tributes.

First up was Data from District 3, then Newton from the same district, then Delia. April watched as the face of the girl she had murdered hovered over the arena, then faded away. Zoe from District 6 took Delia's place in the sky, followed by Logan from 7. Little Adeline from 8 was next. April felt a pang of sorrow as she thought of how adorable Adeline had looked at the interviews the previous night, but she had no time to dwell on it before Adeline's district partner, Quilt, appeared in the sky. Quilt had been the first tribute to die in the bloodbath; Faberge had slit his throat, though April had not witnessed this since she was round the other side of the Cornucopia. Alexander from District 9 appeared, then Pod from 11 and the seal reappeared to mark the end of the death recap.

April continued to look up at the sky long after the seal had faded away. She knew the nine tributes whose faces she had just seen projected over the arena were just the start, that more faces would follow in the coming days. How long would it be before it was her face in the sky? How long before it was Simm's? And where was her district partner anyway? Thanks to the nightly death recap, she knew he was still alive - for now. But he could be anywhere in the arena, a twelve-year-old boy caught up in a game he had little hope of winning, a game in which he was pitted against opponents much bigger and stronger than himself, a game in which defeat meant certain death.

In the end, however, she decided the best thing she could do was try to snatch a few hours' sleep and huddled down in her blanket. But her sleep was troubled by dreams in which she strangled Delia, then watched her turn into Viola right before her eyes. Over and over . . .

* * *

><p>Simm had been on the move for several hours now, too afraid of his fellow tributes to even think about resting. He had good reason to be afraid. The only thing he had been able to grab before he was forced to flee from the Cornucopia was a loaf of bread. No weapons, not even a backpack, just the bread which he now carried under his jacket, clinging to it as if it was a lifeline. Which meant he would have no means of defending himself should he run into one of his fellow tributes.<p>

Not that it mattered; he wouldn't stand a chance against most of them anyway, especially the Careers. All he could do was keep moving and hope they were currently elsewhere in the arena, but he knew that couldn't last. They were bound to catch him sooner or later and, when they did, he would be dead within a matter of moments. All he could do was keep moving and try to avoid the inevitable encounter for as long as possible. So, on the verge of exhaustion, he continued walking, constantly listening out for any human sound; since the only people in the arena were himself and his fellow tributes, any such sound was suspect. Any such sound might indicate the presence of an enemy.

Only when the anthem played at the end of the day did he dare to stop for a moment. He broke off a bit of his bread and nibbled on it as he looked up at the sky and watched as the tributes who had died in the bloodbath appeared. He wondered if he might see April, but it turned out that she too had survived. For only the third time in sixteen years, both tributes from District 12 were still alive at the end of the first day in the arena, but he knew it was unlikely they would remain that way for long. That was why he elected to keep moving, not daring to stop and rest even for a moment.

* * *

><p>Normally at this stage in the Games, all six tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 would have been together, hunting down any non-Careers who had survived the bloodbath. But not this year; since his fight with Flint at the Training Centre, Reef had been avoiding his fellow Careers in favour of Iago. Indeed, when the two of them left the Cornucopia, they had made sure to run in the opposite direction to Velvet, Faberge, Agrippina, Flint and Candida, the five tributes who should have been Reef's allies.<p>

Instead, he was only teamed up with one of his fellow tributes: Iago. Though he had only met the District 5 boy a few days ago, Reef felt he had found in him a soul mate, someone who meant more to him than any person ever would. He was well aware that only one of them could win the Games, that he might end up having to kill Iago, or vice versa, but that didn't matter for the moment. He was alive, as was the boy he loved, and the two of them had managed to get clear of the Cornucopia with a well-stocked backpack each, not to mention some fairly decent weapons. Reef had a spear, while Iago had managed to grab the sword April had seen propped against a crate.

Right now, they were lying in the shade of a tree, neither fully asleep nor fully awake, just resting. This was the first chance they had had to be alone together, or as alone as two tributes could be in the arena, which had hidden cameras everywhere. But hidden cameras were the last thing on Reef and Iago's minds as they relaxed at the foot of the tree. "Reef?" Iago ventured at length. "How long have you known?"

Reef propped himself up on one arm. "How long have I known what?"

"That you're gay."

"I'm not sure. I guess I've always known. I mean, I've never been interested in girls as anything more than friends . . ." Reef paused, remembering the girls he had known in District 4, girls who were drawn to his handsome looks. But he was not interested in them, not in the same way he was interested in boys. "Guys, on the other hand . . ." He and Iago moved closer together and, just as they were about to kiss, they heard the crack of a twig breaking somewhere nearby.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Simm froze on the spot as the twig cracked under his foot. Now he'd done it; at least one of the other tributes must have heard him and he knew only too well that some of them were willing to kill. Yes, he could see two tributes nearby, both of whom were boys, though it was too dark for him to see who they were. That hardly mattered, though; what mattered was that, judging by the way they had turned in his direction, both of them had heard him. And now they were heading his way, one armed with a spear, the other with a sword.

"Oh, crap!" he thought to himself, realising he was in serious trouble. Finding the will to move, he turned and attempted to flee for his life; unarmed, he could do little else and his chances of outrunning these two tributes were slim. Especially when he was already exhausted from having been constantly on the move since this morning. Nonetheless, he ran, not caring where he went, not considering the possibility that he might be running into even greater danger. Not only did he have his fellow tributes to worry about, the Gamemakers invariably rigged traps in the arena, traps which could be triggered if a tribute stepped in the wrong place, traps which could kill.

But Simm gave no thought to this as he desperately tried to outrun his pursuers; nor did he give any thought to the brambles which tore at him as he pushed his way through the undergrowth. All he cared about was escaping from those who were pursuing him relentlessly, those who wanted him dead. He could hear himself breathing raggedly, feel his legs beginning to ache, but he did not dare stop running, even for a moment. If he did, it was a stone cold certainty that his face would be in the sky at the next death recap.

Presently, he found himself back in the clearing where the Cornucopia stood. By now, the golden horn had been picked clean, most of the bounty it had contained this morning having been moved to wherever the Careers had made their base camp. But the horn itself was still there, as were the twenty-four plates on which the tributes had stood for sixty seconds. Simm now had two choices: go back the way he had come and risk running right into his pursuers' weapons, or try to make a run for it and hope he made it across the clearing.

Thinking quickly, he decided on the latter option. But he had barely made it halfway before he fell to the ground, a spear lodged between his shoulder blades. At the same instant, a cannon, the tenth to sound in the Sixteenth Hunger Games, boomed out across the arena. Yet another tribute from District 12 had been eliminated.

* * *

><p>Reef was just pulling his spear out of his victim's body when Iago entered the clearing, sword in hand. There was no need to ask; Iago had heard the cannon, so he knew Reef had succeeded in killing the tribute they had been pursuing. A remarkable achievement, considering it was the middle of the night. Indeed, he wondered if even the Careers could have hit a moving target under such conditions, but then he remembered that Reef was technically a Career as well, even though he was not a member of the main pack. But which tribute had Reef killed?<p>

"Who did you hit?" Iago asked, nodding towards the corpse lying at Reef's feet.

In response, Reef knelt beside the body and turned it over. He then unzipped his backpack and pulled out a flashlight; switching it on, he pointed the beam at the dead tribute, revealing a small boy with dark hair and grey eyes, eyes which stared sightlessly up at him. The boy's mouth was open, frozen into a final gasp of surprise as Reef's spear penetrated his back, killing him instantly. "It's that kid from 12, Tim - or whatever his name is . . ." Reef paused for a moment, then added: ". . . was." He stood up. "Come on. The Gamemakers will be wanting to collect the body." Part of training to be a Career tribute involved learning to detach yourself from the tributes you killed, to avoid thinking of them as human beings. As far as Reef was concerned, all he had done was eliminate another competitor.

Without saying another word, Reef and Iago withdrew from the scene, leaving Simm lying on the ground, another tribute who had fallen in the Capitol's cruel Games. No doubt the whole thing had been captured on camera to be beamed into every home in Panem, though it was unlikely anyone would be watching live at this hour so early in the Games. But it was bound to make the highlights reel; every death which occurred in the arena was given full coverage, usually including a close-up of the body. A grim reminder to those watching in the districts of why twenty-four of their young people had been taken from them. Both Reef and Iago had seen it many times over the years.

As the boys from Districts 4 and 5 watched, one of the Capitol's hovercraft appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. A claw dipped down, lifting Simm's body off the ground and into the hovercraft, which vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Already, ten dead tributes had been removed from the arena to be taken back to the Capitol and from there to the districts they had called home. Fourteen were left: all six from the Career districts, the boys from Districts 5 and 6, the girls from 7 and 9, both from 10 and the girls from 11 and 12. And, in the coming days, thirteen of them would also die.

Iago was well aware that this could include himself or Reef - or both. He wondered if they should call time on their alliance (as they called it, though they knew it was much more than that) just in case it came down to the two of them. The last thing he wanted was to be forced into a position where he had to kill Reef, or where Reef had to kill him. Reef, who had given up his place in the Career pack for the sake of the boy with whom he had fallen in love. It would be better if they went their separate ways now, before they found themselves faced with the dilemma of deciding who should live and who should die.

As soon as they were back at the tree beneath which they had been relaxing, Iago put this to Reef. "Well, that's all the more reason to make the most of things," said Reef, pulling Iago into an embrace. "Iago," he added, lowering his voice to just above a whisper, "I know we'll only have a short time together, but I love you." Then, without saying another word, he and Iago leaned towards each other and kissed.

* * *

><p>April guessed it was some time after midnight when the boom of the cannon woke her up, though she had no way of knowing for sure. Nor did she have any way of knowing which of her fellow tributes had just died. She just knew it was unlikely to be a Career at this stage in the Games, unless one of them had triggered a Gamemakers' trap. More likely it was a Career who had done the killing; the pack usually spent the first night of the Games scouring the arena in search of victims. Weaker tributes who had managed to escape the bloodbath, but had neither the strength nor the weapons to take on six highly trained fighters. April had seen Career packs in action before, so she was only too aware of how they operated. A favourite tactic was for all the Careers to descend on the target at once, meaning the unfortunate tribute had almost no chance of getting away.<p>

April wondered if that would be her fate in these Games. To find herself surrounded by the six . . . no, five - Reef was not part of the main Career alliance. To find herself surrounded by the five tributes who made up the Career pack. To be attacked by all of them at once. To look into the eyes of one of the Careers as he or she delivered the killing blow. To die without being able to at least try to defend herself, not that the rope she had used to strangle Delia would do her much good against the Career pack even if she had managed to keep hold of it.

Terrified of literally being caught napping, she dared not go back to sleep. Instead, she sat huddled in her blanket, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, jumping at the slightest sound. In her mind, everything she heard was her fellow tributes coming to kill her, every shadow was someone out to slit her throat. Should she get out of here while she still had the chance? And what if, by moving her camp, she only ended up in even more danger?

"No," she told herself. "I mustn't panic, or I really will get myself killed." That, she recalled, was what had happened to a boy from District 11 called Tobias, who was a tribute in the Twelfth Games. He had seemed perfectly rational at his interview the night before the Games began. But, after only four days in the arena (a windswept moor that year) he had gone completely insane and started wandering around aimlessly, talking to himself all the while, heedless of any other tributes who might be nearby. Eventually, he had strayed, unarmed, right into the path of the Career pack; needless to say, they made short work of him.

It was a long night. April tried to keep her spirits up by singing _Deep In The Meadow_, the song she and Simm had sung together on the train which had brought them to the Capitol. But her voice gave out when it occurred to her that it might have been Simm's cannon she had heard going off. Though it was just as well she stopped singing when she did because, moments later, the Careers passed dangerously close to her camp.

Eventually, however, the sky began to lighten, marking the beginning of another day. April waited until it was properly light before she folded up her blanket and put it back in her pack. Then, knowing it was risky to stay in one place too long, she moved on without looking back at the place where she had spent her first night in the arena.

* * *

><p>The Careers, meanwhile, were preparing to head out on another hunt for victims, one which they hoped would be more successful than last night's hunt. Despite spending the whole night scouring the arena, they had not seen any of the other tributes since the bloodbath and Agrippina in particular was growing impatient. If she didn't get to shoot someone soon, she was going to turn her arrows on her fellow Careers, including Flint; as a citizen of District 2, she had been raised with a military mindset and saw her fellow tributes not as human beings, but as playing pieces which had to be eliminated. And she was prepared to kill her own district partner if she had to, but not just yet. Flint was too skilled a fighter to be disposed of so lightly. Even so, she couldn't help wishing the Gamemakers would do something to liven the Games up, something which involved driving the other tributes towards the Career pack.<p>

But that was only likely to happen if there was no action for a few days and the audience in the Capitol began to complain that these Games were "dull". At this stage, so soon after the bloodbath, their appetite for violence would have been sated for a while, meaning the Gamemakers had no need to force any of the tributes together. Especially since there had already been one death since the initial fight for supplies at the Cornucopia. Agrippina had heard the cannon last night, but had no way of knowing who the victim was nor how they had died. She just knew no-one from the Career pack was responsible.

"Where to this time?" asked Candida, her words cutting through Agrippina's train of thought.

Every year since the first Career alliance was formed, one of the tributes in the pack had taken on the role of leader. This year, that role had fallen to Faberge, the oldest member of the pack since Reef had broken the alliance. But that wasn't the reason he had emerged as leader; he had emerged as leader because he knew how to organise people, though Agrippina and Flint were finding it hard to take orders from a District 1 pretty boy. But they kept any plans they might have for deposing him on hold - for now.

"That way," Faberge said in reply to Candida's question, pointing south-east with his sword. Gripping their weapons in their hands, the Careers moved out, Faberge taking the lead, while Velvet, Agrippina, Flint and Candida followed him. "And, if you see any of the others, you know what to do . . ."

* * *

><p>April knew the supply of water she had obtained at the Cornucopia would not last forever, no matter how carefully she rationed it. And she also knew dehydration could kill her as surely as one of her fellow tributes. So she spent the second morning in the arena looking for a pond or a stream, anywhere she could refill her water bottle; the only other options were to wait for it to rain (which showed no signs of happening any time soon) or to steal water from the Careers' stash. The latter would, however, be risky to the point of being suicidal; she had seen what happened to tributes who stole from the Careers in previous Hunger Games and knew they were almost invariably caught and killed sooner or later. So she dismissed that option - she didn't know where the Careers' base camp was anyway - and continued her search.<p>

Towards noon, she came across a small pond in a clearing. It looked like it would be the perfect spot to replenish her water supply and she made a mental note to remember the location, just in case there was no other source of water in the arena. Right now, however, she still had enough water to last her at least a day or so. In any case, she couldn't risk approaching the pond at this moment because another tribute, a girl, was already kneeling beside it; April recognised the waist-length brown hair of Artemis from District 7. As she watched, Artemis lifted her cupped hands out of the water, brought them to her lips and began to drink.

April debated whether she should wait until Artemis was through or leave before she was spotted. She had no way of knowing if the girl kneeling beside the pond was a potential killer or another tribute who was just trying to survive. District 7 tributes tended to be the best fighters outside the Career pack, especially if they could get their hands on an axe; April didn't want to chance the possibility that Artemis might be armed. Before she could make any decisions, however, Artemis started to get up . . .

. . . and was immediately doubled over in agony, clutching her stomach and moaning in pain. As April watched, she vomited violently, bringing up the water she had just drunk, along with whatever she had eaten recently. She tried to stagger away from the pond, only to fall to her knees and throw up again; this happened twice more and, on the second occasion, she didn't even try to get up. She just continued moaning and clutching her stomach, clearly still feeling sick even though it was unlikely she had anything left to bring up, before she finally collapsed. Artemis gave a few final moans, then the cannon fired.

Feeling slightly nauseated herself, April watched the whole scene. Artemis had been perfectly fine only a few moments ago, but it seemed she had died from a sickness so virulent that it could kill within a matter of minutes. Or was it a sickness? What if the water in the pond was poisonous? If it was, anyone who drank from that pond would suffer the same fate as Artemis. And, worst of all, what if the Gamemakers had poisoned all the water in the arena? That would mean the Careers had control of the only source of safe drinking water available to the tributes. April's water bottle suddenly seemed not half full, but half empty.

Just as she was about to leave, April spotted Artemis's backpack lying on the ground and decided it might be worth seeing what it contained; Artemis had no further use for whatever it was. Trying not to look at Artemis's body, she walked over to the pack and picked it up. Inside she found a coil of wire, a first aid kit, a paper bag containing an assortment of nuts and berries, two dead squirrels, a box of matches and a knife. The latter's blade was keen and sharp, suggesting that it would be useful as a weapon, though April told herself that she would only use it in self defence as she transferred it into her own pack. She also took the two squirrels, plus the bag of nuts and berries; the latter were all varieties she recognised from the edible plants station at the Training Centre. Finally, she took the coil of wire, thinking it might be useful for something, though she couldn't think what. The first aid kit and the matches, however, were left in Artemis's pack; April had both these items already.

Having sorted out what she was going to take and what she was going to leave, April turned and walked away from the scene. She did not look back as a hovercraft appeared and the claw dipped down to retrieve Artemis's body.

* * *

><p>The discovery of the squirrels in Artemis's pack assured April that there was a source of safe water other than the supplies at the Cornucopia; after all, the animals in this arena would need to drink just as much as the tributes. So, if she could find out where the animals drank, she should be all right, at least as far as water was concerned.<p>

In the meantime, she continued walking for the rest of the day, a day which passed without further incident. At nightfall, she made camp and decided to risk a small campfire to keep herself warm and to roast one of the squirrels. Remembering what the trapping instructor at the Training Centre had told her (and what she had seen tributes do in previous Hunger Games) she skinned and dressed a squirrel, then set it to cook on a spit over her fire. While she was waiting for the meat to cook, the anthem began to play and the seal appeared over the arena.

Artemis appeared in the sky, followed by . . . April shook her head in a vain attempt to deny what she was seeing. Simm's face was in the sky. Her district partner was dead.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

April had known it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, but the sight of Simm's face hovering over the arena before fading away still caused her to feel a pang of sorrow. Another young life lost to the Capitol's cruel Games. Another tribute from District 12 eliminated early. April had come to know Simm quite well during the time they had spent in the Capitol, though she had tried to avoid getting too close to him, knowing he was unlikely to last long once they were in the arena. And he hadn't; it must have been his cannon she heard firing late last night.

"Twelve years old," she thought out loud. "He was twelve years old." There was little doubt in her mind what had happened to Simm; he had been taken out by an older, stronger tribute, though she had no way of knowing who had killed him. She just knew he was dead, the thirty-first tribute from District 12 to fall in the Hunger Games, and wondered how long it would be before she became the thirty-second. Despite the knife she had found in Artemis's pack, she still didn't rate her chances, not while the Careers were out there. They were still the biggest threat in the arena, even though their pack contained one less tribute than it usually did; April knew she wouldn't stand a chance if she came up against all five.

And then there was Reef. She had seen him throwing spears in the Training Centre and knew he hardly ever missed. That meant, even though he only had Iago to back him up, he was still a potential threat, someone she should try to steer clear of. Though she doubted the Gamemakers would allow her to steer clear of anyone for long; they always took steps to make sure the tributes were manipulated into each other's paths, not that they showed any signs of doing so right now. The recent bloodbath, plus the two deaths which had occurred since, should satisfy the Capitol's bloodlust for the time being.

In the end, she decided that the best thing she could do was live each day in the arena as it came and try to stay alive for as long as possible. Which probably wouldn't be very long, but at least she now had a weapon with which to defend herself; if she did get jumped by one of her fellow tributes, she could try to inflict a few wounds with her knife. That way, no-one could accuse her of going down without a fight. As for Simm, the sad fact was that he was probably better off where he was now, somewhere he would never have to face starvation or the Hunger Games again, somewhere like the meadow in the song. Even so, she couldn't help thinking of him looking in the window of her parents' toy shop with other Seam children, looking at toys his own parents would never be able to afford. Any toys Seam children had were either home-made or had passed through the hands of several previous owners already.

But April quickly dismissed the thought. There was nothing she could do for Simm now, but at least she could try to survive. With that in mind, she ate some of the squirrel which she had been cooking on her spit, then washed it down with a mouthful of water. Next, mindful of her fellow tributes, she extinguished her campfire and wrapped herself in her blanket in preparation for her second night in the arena.

* * *

><p>As had been the case last night, April's sleep was troubled by bad dreams, dreams which involved many of the deaths she had witnessed while watching the Hunger Games. Often in these dreams, she became either the killer or the tribute who was being killed; waking, she would hope desperately that, if she opened her eyes, she would find herself back in District 12, only to find when she did open her eyes that she really was in the arena. The arena, the place where twenty-four kids had been sent to kill each other until only one of them was left. Eleven tributes were dead already, leaving thirteen who were currently still alive. And twelve out of those thirteen would also die.<p>

Somehow, April managed to get through her second night in the arena. At daybreak, she packed up her things and prepared to move on, not knowing where she was going but determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and her fellow tributes, especially the Careers. They were ones most likely to kill her and, while she hadn't seen them (or anyone else apart from Artemis) since she fled from the Cornucopia, she knew they were out there. And she knew they would be more than ready to use their weapons against any tribute unlucky enough to cross their path. So she moved on, heading in a direction she hoped would take her as far from the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 as possible, though she had no way of knowing where they were and therefore couldn't be sure of avoiding them.

And then there was the question of water. April knew she would need to replenish her supply soon, but, after what had happened to Artemis, she was wary of any water she couldn't be 100% sure was safe to drink. Yet, if she didn't take her chances with a pond or a stream, she would be dead from dehydration within a few days. Unless, of course, one of her fellow tributes got her first. In the meantime she tried to ration her water as much as possible, but this still depleted her supply and she knew she would not be able to continue like this for much longer. She had to find some safe drinking water and she had to find it soon.

Just as she was wondering if she should risk stealing water from the Careers - assuming she could find out where they had made their base camp - she suddenly found herself dangling upside down from a tree, held up by a rope around her ankle. There was little doubt in her mind what had happened. One of the other tributes, though she had no way of knowing who, had set a trap and, while her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of water, she had walked right into it. She wondered if whoever had set the trap was waiting nearby, ready to run her through with a spear or shoot her with an arrow. Or, worse, was she going to be left in this tree to die of hunger and thirst? Either way, it seemed District 12 would soon be out of the running yet again.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere in the arena, Columbus shouldered his backpack and prepared himself for another day of trying to avoid the Careers. With Zoe having died in the bloodbath, he was the only tribute District 6 had left to root for. As yet no district, not even District 2, had won two years in a row, but there was always a chance that this year, the year of the Sixteenth Hunger Games, would be the year in which last year's winning district retained the title. Of course, it was a very slim chance indeed, Columbus reflected. District 6 was one of the more urban districts, dominated by assembly plants and mechanics' workshops, its children's education geared towards preparing them for a career in the transport industry. Which was all well and good, but knowing how to build and maintain vehicles and roads wasn't much use in the arena.<p>

He thought of Atticus, the boy who had become District 6's first ever victor the previous year. Atticus had won because he was physically stronger than most kids in 6; at 6'2", he was the tallest tribute in the arena that year, so none of the other tributes had dared to mess with him. Except the boy from District 2 and Atticus had finished him off by smashing his skull with a mace. Columbus, however, was no exceptional physical specimen and, while he had managed to obtain a decent backpack at the Cornucopia, he had not been able to get his hands on any weapons.

That was why he was trying to avoid the Careers, knowing they would not be able to pass up the opportunity to take him out should they find him. All day yesterday, he had been walking around the arena, constantly listening for any sounds which might indicate that they were nearby; if he heard anything, he would immediately turn and head in the opposite direction to the sound. This had kept him alive so far, but he knew that couldn't last, that he would sooner or later be forced into a confrontation he couldn't hope to win. All he could do was try to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

Meanwhile, he had personal business to attend to before he moved on; even in the arena, the call of nature still needed to be answered. Not allowing himself to think about the possibility that he might be onscreen right now, he turned to face the nearest tree, unzipped his trousers and began to relieve himself against the trunk. Just as he had finished and had refastened his trousers, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; turning, he saw the three female Careers (Velvet, Agrippina and Candida) standing there watching him. All of them were armed - Velvet with a spear, Agrippina with a bow, Candida with a sword - and Columbus knew from the look in their eyes that they meant business.

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to defuse the situation. "Haven't you seen a guy take a leak before?"

"Shut up!" Velvet pointed her spear at him. She whistled, clearly a pre-arranged signal because, the next thing Columbus knew, Faberge and Flint were emerging from the trees. They too were carrying weapons; Faberge had a sword and Flint had a lethal-looking axe. "We've found one," Velvet told the boys from Districts 1 and 2. "District 6." She gestured towards Columbus who, outnumbered by five to one, was desperately trying to decide whether or not he should try to make a run for it.

In the end, he hesitated a fraction of a second too long. He turned to run, but Faberge grabbed him and forced him to the ground. Columbus kicked and struggled, attempting to get back up, only for Faberge to call on his fellow Careers to help him. Soon, Columbus's arms and legs had been tied with rope from Agrippina's backpack; there was no way the District 6 boy could escape now. And the Careers knew it. All they had to do now was decide which of them should be the one to make the kill.

"I'll do it," Candida said after a while. With that, she walked towards Columbus with her sword drawn, a grim expression etched on her face. Held down by Faberge and Flint, Columbus could do nothing but close his eyes to avoid having to look at the girl who was about to murder him and brace himself for the end. Candida stood over her victim and raised her sword. "Just like gutting a fish," she said, slicing open his belly and causing his guts to spill out. Her voice was the last sound Columbus ever heard; he passed out from the pain almost immediately and was dead within minutes.

The moment the cannon had fired, the Careers moved off, leaving Columbus lying where he had died, his insides exposed and his arms and legs still tied. As they walked, Velvet, Faberge, Agrippina and Flint took it in turns to pat Candida on the back and congratulate her on making the pack's first kill since the bloodbath.

* * *

><p>From her position, dangling upside down from the branches of a tree, April heard the boom of the cannon. She knew only too well what it meant; another tribute had died, making twelve of them in total. This was only the third day of the Games and the number of tributes in the arena had already been halved. She wondered whose cannon she had just heard and whether the killer or killers might be somewhere nearby. If they were and they found her like this, she would be in serious trouble; suspended by her ankle, she would be unable to escape if anyone decided to stick a spear in her or shoot her with arrows. Was that how her Games were going to end? She hoped not; she would have preferred a more dignified death than becoming a human pin cushion.<p>

At that moment, she noticed that someone was looking up at her: Helen, the girl tribute from District 9. Helen spent several minutes staring at her, until April began to grow impatient. "Don't just stand there!" she snapped. "If you're going to kill me, kill me!" She fully expected Helen to take her at her word - these were the Hunger Games, after all - but Helen, though she did pull a knife out of her belt, did not attempt to stab her with it. Instead, she began to cut through the rope from which April was suspended, sending her plunging to the ground.

"You OK?" Helen asked once April had caught her breath.

April could only shake her head in disbelief, wondering what Helen was up to. The District 9 girl had, it seemed, just saved her life. But why? What was the point in saving someone's life when you knew they might have to kill you later? Unless Helen's plan was to kill her first. But, then, why hadn't she killed her while she was still suspended from the tree? Why hadn't she simply walked away and left her to die? Untying the rope around her ankle, April put both questions to Helen, who responded with a slight shrug.

"That trap wasn't meant for you," she replied. "I was trying to get one of the Careers. I hate them." A look of disgust crossed her face for a moment. "They killed Alexander."

"That . . . was your district partner, wasn't it?" said April, remembering when she had watched the District 9 reaping with Ganymede and Simm. Helen nodded. "Then you must be Helen," April added, as Helen nodded again. "I'm April . . ." Then, unable to think of anything else to say, she added: "Did you really set that trap?"

"Yes, that's how I got my eight in training. Because I remembered seeing someone do something similar one year and thought I'd try it for myself. It seemed to work pretty well when I used it on a dummy, but I wasn't sure if it would work if I tried it for real. Though I wish I could have dangled one of the Gamemakers by the ankle," Helen added, giggling slightly at the mental picture this conjured up.

"Well, that probably wouldn't have been a good idea," April said, though she found it hard to resist the urge to start laughing. Even though she had been hanging by her ankle only moments before, she felt a certain sense of glee at the thought of it happening to one of the people who were overseeing these Games. "They might have thought it was too rebellious." She knew that, if she and Helen had had any cameras trained on them in the last few minutes, the Gamemakers would have switched to a camera elsewhere in the arena the moment Helen mentioned what she had done in her private session. That was information no tribute was supposed to divulge. All the same, April took the precaution of lowering her voice to make it harder for any hidden microphones to pick up.

* * *

><p>"Allies?" Helen asked, after she and April had spent several minutes looking at each other, unable to think of anything to say.<p>

April paused. It sounded as though Helen wanted to be allies with her, but she couldn't help wondering why. Tributes from other districts did not form alliances with those from District 12 very often, though that was mainly because District 12 tributes rarely lived long enough. Was Helen trying to gain her trust in order to make it easier for her to kill her? She said the trap had been meant for the Careers, but she would have been well within the rules to kill any tribute who got caught in it. But she hadn't; she had cut April free instead, so she obviously didn't want her dead just yet. That was what made April say: "OK then" and hold her hand out for Helen to shake.

"Allies," Helen said again, taking April's hand and shaking it. This was the way in which tributes sealed alliances with each other, pledging to fight together, to watch each other's backs. But alliances in the Hunger Games could only go so far. Even as they shook hands, April and Helen both knew there would come a time when something happened to bring their partnership to an end. Sooner or later, one or both of them would die and the longer they managed to stay alive, the more likely it was that one of them would have to kill the other. All the same, April thought to herself, it would be nice to have some company in the arena, even if it was only for a little while.

April and Helen moved off, both of them keeping their knives ready in case they had to defend themselves, constantly on the alert for any sounds which might indicate that one or more of their fellow tributes were nearby. April had to admit that it was good to have someone watching her back and she suspected Helen felt the same. But she dared not let her guard down too much, knowing that no tribute could ever completely trust any of the others. Even the tributes in the Career pack would eventually begin to turn on each other, to attack and kill those who had previously been their allies; April had seen it happen before.

The rest of the morning passed without incident; neither April nor Helen saw any of their fellow tributes, ten of whom were still alive. Towards noon, as the pair walked together, they found themselves speculating about which tribute had died earlier, whose cannon had fired just before Helen found April caught up in her trap. "I don't suppose it could have been one of the Careers, could it?" said Helen, ducking to avoid an overhanging branch.

"I doubt it," replied April. She too ducked under the branch. "Not at this stage. But I guess we'll find out tonight if . . ." She broke off suddenly as her ears registered a loud buzzing noise coming from somewhere nearby. "What's that?"

Before Helen could reply, the source of the buzzing was revealed. A large swarm of wasps was bearing down on the two girls, but they were not ordinary wasps; their larger size and their solid gold bodies gave that away instantly. And neither April nor Helen needed anyone to tell them what the wasps were.

Tracker jackers!


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Tracker jackers. The rhyming name sounded almost comical, but April and Helen knew there was nothing remotely funny about tracker jackers. These large golden wasps were mutts, bred in a Capitol laboratory to be used as a living weapon against the districts. Their sting was highly toxic, so much so that few people could survive being stung more than a handful of times. And, even if you lived through a tracker jacker attack, the poison in the stings caused terrifying hallucinations, hallucinations which had been known to drive people to madness. So, on the whole, it was best to give tracker jackers a wide berth if you wanted to keep your life, or at least your sanity.

"Run for it!" yelled April. She was too young to remember the rebellion, but Trillium had once told her about how the Capitol left many tracker jacker nests outside the districts. Trillium herself had been part of a rebel group which was attacked by a swarm of the deadly wasps; she was the only survivor and she had spent two days locked in a world of terrifying visions, though she had not gone into any detail about these visions, saying only that she never wanted to experience anything like it again. And April knew she and Helen would suffer the same fate - or worse - if they didn't get out of here quickly.

April and Helen began to run, their minds focused solely on trying to outdistance the insects which were pursuing them relentlessly, intent on stinging them to death. All thoughts that might be running into even greater danger were pushed right out of their minds; the only thing which mattered to either girl was getting as far away from the tracker jackers as possible, hopefully without being stung. And where had the swarm come from anyway? There hadn't been any nests in any of the nearby trees. Were they part of a Gamemakers' trap? Probably. Neither April nor Helen could think of any other explanation for their sudden appearance.

As she and April ran through the forest, trying desperately to outrun the swarm, Helen stumbled on a trailing root and went sprawling on the ground. April hurried over and helped her up. She couldn't leave Helen to the mercies of the tracker jackers, not after the District 9 girl had saved her earlier; the citizens of District 12 did not like debts to go unpaid, so this should even the score between them. "Come on!" April urged Helen. "Keep . . ."

At that moment, she felt a sharp pain on the back of her left hand, followed seconds later by another on her neck. She had been stung. And she wasn't the only one; Helen took two stings as well, one on her forehead and one on her cheek.

* * *

><p>Somehow, despite having taken four tracker jacker stings between them, April and Helen managed to keep going. The poison was already making them feel woozy, but they forced themselves to carry on, knowing they wouldn't stand a chance if the whole swarm caught up with them. As they ran, or rather staggered, through the forest, April yanked out the stingers in her neck and the back of her hand, remembering through the fog of tracker jacker venom that District 12's apothecary had told her that, if you got stung by the deadly wasps, you should remove the stingers as quickly as possible. Otherwise, even if you survived, you would take longer to recover.<p>

"Quick!" April shouted to Helen. "Pull them out!"

"What?" Helen's mind, addled by the poison, did not seem to have registered the urgency in April's tone.

"The stingers! Pull the stingers out! You'll be a lot worse if you don't!" When Helen still made no attempt to follow this advice, April grabbed hold of her and pulled the stingers out for her. Helen cried out; pulling out the stingers even from ordinary wasps could be painful, but it was far worse when the wasps were tracker jackers because of their larger size and because of the venom they carried. Already, April noted, swellings the size of plums had developed on Helen's forehead and cheek. Looking down at her hand, she found that it too was swollen where it had been stung; she did not need to feel her neck to know she would find another swelling there. In any case, she could still hear a loud buzzing, which meant the tracker jackers were still on their trail.

"Keep going!" April urged Helen forward, even though she was barely able to walk straight herself. The two of them staggered on, not thinking about where they were going, their minds fogged by tracker jacker venom. It was purely by chance that they walked right into a small pond, but the sensation of being wet still registered even in their fuddled state. And April remembered something else which Trillium had told her about tracker jackers: it was possible to evade the wasps by hiding under water. Of course, there was the risk that the water in this pond was poisoned like the water in the pond which Artemis had drunk from, but that was the last thing on her mind right now. The only thing she was aware of was the fact that she and Helen still had a swarm of tracker jackers on their tail.

"Get under the water!" she told Helen. With that, she took a deep breath and submerged herself in the pond, as Helen followed her example.

Neither April nor Helen knew how long it was before they emerged from the pond and collapsed on the forest floor, though it was actually only a matter of minutes. Glancing at Helen, April was horrified to see a putrid green liquid oozing from the stings on her cheek and forehead - and she was even more horrified to find that the same liquid was weeping from the sting on the back of her hand. And, then, everything started sparkling as if it was covered in dew, as the hallucinations began in earnest. The girls from Districts 9 and 12 entered the surreal and nightmarish world of the visions brought on by tracker jacker venom.

* * *

><p>From the beginning, Almond's strategy had been to live off the land while avoiding her fellow tributes and waiting for them to wipe each other out. It was her best chance of survival; though a number of people from District 11 had grown strong as a result of years of heavy agricultural work, she was not one of them. At sixteen, she was small and slight, easy prey for the stronger tributes; she wouldn't stand a chance in a direct confrontation with most of those who were currently still alive, least of all the Careers. But she had an advantage the Careers didn't have. She had grown up in the agricultural district and this had given her an extensive knowledge of edible plants.<p>

Of course, just because District 11's main industry was agriculture didn't mean the people were any better fed than the rest of the population. From an early age, children in the district were taught that the crops they grew were not for their own benefit, but for the Capitol's; stealing from the fields or from the orchards was strictly forbidden. As Almond had learned when she was barely seven years old.

She was one of those working in the cherry orchard, adults and children alike helping to gather the fruit; the younger children were scrambling around plucking cherries from the higher branches, while the adults and older children gathered the fruit growing nearer to the ground. Every so often, those working among the branches would descend to the ground and empty the bags they used to hold the cherries they picked into one of the large baskets which were waiting to be taken to the truck parked just outside the orchard ready to take the cherries to one of the storage units, where they would be kept until the time came to transport them to the Capitol.

Almond was making her third trip to the baskets when she took a quick look inside her bag and saw the reddish-black fruit which she had gathered for the Capitol. The cherries, two to a stem, looked so shiny, but she had no idea what they tasted like. Surely, she thought to herself, eating just one couldn't hurt. Provided the district met its quota, the Capitol need never know. She pulled a cherry out of the bag, put it to her lips . . .

The next thing she knew, the heavy boot of a Peacekeeper had kicked her to the ground and a man's voice was yelling at her. "That's the Capitol's property, you thieving little bitch!" Trembling, she looked up into the pitiless eyes of Pontius Webb, said by many to be the most sadistic Peacekeeper in District 11; break the rules in front of him and he would make sure you were punished, no matter how young you were. Almond tried to scramble to her feet and make a run for it, but Webb was too quick for her. He dragged her away from the orchard, barked orders at those who had paused to see what was happening to "get back to work", bundled her into the truck and drove her straight to the Justice Building.

For the attempted theft of a cherry, Almond was sentenced to eight strokes of the whip, to be administered as soon as those who had been working in the orchard with her returned from their shift. She knew there was no escaping the punishment; the Peacekeepers in District 11 listened to neither pleas for mercy nor to tearful promises never to steal again. And, when the time came, the Head Peacekeeper laid into her so hard that, by the time he was finished, her cotton dress was cover in blood from the lash marks.

Almond had tried to blot out the memory of that day, but it was so painful that she still remembered it vividly nine years later. She had never risked stealing crops again, but it felt as if Webb had watched her like a hawk ever since. Indeed, when she had gone foraging for food on the first day in the arena, she'd had to constantly remind herself that he couldn't do anything to her here, that it was her fellow tributes she should be worried about.

* * *

><p>As she crept cautiously through the forest which formed this year's arena, she thought of her family back in District 11. Of her mother and father, who had been whipped themselves in the wake of the cherry incident for failing to teach her that stealing was wrong. Of her eleven-year-old twin brother and sister, Bud and Myrtle, one year away from the time when they would become eligible for the reaping themselves. For their sake, she had signed up for tesserae, guaranteeing her family extra rations of grain and oil, but also guaranteeing herself extra entries in the reaping. And, this year, one of the thirty entries she had accumulated over the years had been drawn.<p>

It was rather ironic that District 11, Panem's main food-producer, should have one of the highest take-up rates of tesserae in the country. But the district was so strictly policed that it was the only way families could obtain extra rations without risking the whip - or worse. Almond remembered what had happened to a young man named Roots, who had been caught stealing potatoes. Normally, he would have got away with a whipping, but he had foolishly punched the Peacekeeper who caught him - who happened to be her old "friend" Pontius Webb - a crime far more serious than stealing. For this, he had been shot in front of the Justice Building as a warning that dissent would not be tolerated. It was three days before his wife, Cora, was allowed to collect his body for burial; she was pregnant at the time, but lost the baby soon after. Most people believed the grief and stress she had suffered were the main cause, though no-one dared to mention this openly.

But, for all the brutality of the Peacekeepers, living in District 11 had taught Almond a great deal about plants. That could be the only advantage she had over her fellow tributes; she was less likely than most of them to mistake a poisonous plant for an edible one, or vice versa. She'd found a few strips of beef jerky and some trail mix in the backpack she had grabbed at the Cornucopia, but she had chosen to live off the land, keeping the food from her pack for emergencies. Finding food was no problem for her, but her fellow tributes were, especially since her only weapon was a wooden club she had found in her pack. In the hands of a stronger tribute, it could have done a great deal of damage to someone's skull, but she lacked the strength to wield it with enough force.

Just as she was wondering what she would do if she found herself face-to-face with her fellow tributes, Almond's fears were realised; she did come face-to-face with her fellow tributes. Two of them, anyway. Reef from District 4 was standing there with a spear in his hand and Iago from 5 was beside him, armed with a sword.

* * *

><p>Almond bolted. Faced with two armed tributes, one of whom came from one of the Career districts, there was nothing else she could do, especially since she didn't know how many other tributes might be nearby. For all she knew, the rest of the Careers were hiding behind the trees, ready to attack; she was unaware that Reef had broken with the Career pack and formed his own alliance with Iago. Nor did she know that Reef and Iago were rather more than just allies. All she saw was two teenaged boys armed with weapons which could easily kill her.<p>

So she ran. And, as she ran, she heard Reef and Iago shouting to each other behind her; she couldn't make out what they were saying, but she could guess what they planned to do if they caught up with her. For a moment, she wondered which of them would be the one who actually killed her, but the thought was too awful to contemplate, so she shook it off and continued running. Until she ran right into an invisible barrier. Not a force-field, a barrier which she couldn't see, but which prevented her from running any further in the same direction. She tried to veer to the left, then to the right, only to find the same barrier in the way each time. There was no other direction she could go but back the way she had come, back towards Reef and Iago.

But, when she tried to turn back, she found yet another barrier blocking her path. She needed no-one to tell her that this was the work of the Gamemakers, that she had run right into one of their traps. Before she had time to process this information, a strange green mist suddenly surrounded her, a mist unlike anything she had seen before. And, then, her skin started to blister.

Almond screamed in agony as her skin turned from its normal chocolate brown colour to a vivid crimson. She had felt pain before, but this was a pain far worse than anything she had ever experienced, a pain which permeated through her whole body, making her feel as though she was on fire. Panicking, she tried to get clear of the mist, forgetting about the invisible barriers which trapped her, until she blundered right into one of them. But, even without the barriers to stop her from escaping, it was too late; the mist, which contained a cocktail of lethal chemicals, had already done its deadly work. Almond fell to the ground where she lay twitching for several seconds, then ceased moving.

No other tributes witnessed her death. Reef and Iago, unaware of the barriers, had fled the scene when the mist appeared and she started to blister; they had no wish to suffer the same fate. By the time the cannon fired, they were well clear of the area.

* * *

><p>For two whole days, April had been locked in the surreal world of tracker jacker venom, bombarded with a series of terrifying visions. Again and again, she had watched helplessly as Viola died, wanting to help her friend but unable to do anything to save her. Again and again, she had seen Viola's corpse morph into Delia before her eyes, become reanimated and sit up, pointing at her accusingly. "You killed me!" ViolaDelia would say, before turning into a skeleton right before April's eyes. Even worse were the images of Simm, whom she saw die in numerous ways, each more gruesome than the last. And she herself was attacked many times by her fellow tributes, by mutts . . .

That wasn't the worst of it, though. Occasionally, she had brief moments of lucidity, only to find herself back in her nightmare world seconds later. A nightmare from which she could not wake up no matter how hard she tried. A nightmare which seemed like it would go on forever, holding her prisoner in its terrifying clutches. In her fevered mind, she was surrounded by all the tributes whose faces she had seen in the sky - Data, Newton, Delia, Zoe, Artemis, Logan, Adeline, Quilt, Alexander, Pod and Simm - all of them out to kill her as they themselves had been killed.

Just as the dead tributes were about to tear her apart, April woke to find herself lying beside the pond where she and Helen had hidden to shake off the tracker jackers. She lay still, bracing herself for the next onslaught; when none came, she realised the poison must have finally worn off, that she was back in the real world. She sat up and looked over her shoulder to where Helen still lay on the ground. Staggering to her feet, she approached the younger girl and knelt beside her, reaching out to touch her gently. "Helen?"

Helen, who had closed her eyes tight in a vain attempt to shut out the visions, opened them in response to April's touch. Sitting up, she looked into the face of her ally from District 12, reassuring herself that what she saw was real, not another hallucination brought on by the tracker jacker venom. Then, she burst into tears, burying her face in April's chest. April embraced her. She had no way of knowing what Helen had seen in her hallucinations, but if they had been anything like her own, it must have been a terrifying ordeal. Especially when you considered that, at fourteen, Helen was the youngest tribute still alive.

More than anything, April wanted to assure Helen that she was safe. But she was only too aware that no tribute was safe in the arena.

* * *

><p>Presently, Helen calmed down, allowing herself and April to take stock of their situation. They had no way of knowing how long they had been out, but that didn't matter right now. Their first priority was treating their stings, but with what? April's first aid kit included a tube of lotion which was effective against ordinary insect bites and stings; tracker jacker stings, however, were in an entirely different league. There was, she recalled, a variety of leaf which was highly effective at reducing the swellings left by the stings, but she couldn't remember what it looked like. And Helen didn't know either.<p>

"We don't have to deal with tracker jackers very often where I live," she said when April asked her about the leaf. "It's mostly open prairie - not many trees for them to nest in."

In the end, April and Helen decided to try bathing their stings using water from the pond. It provided temporary relief, nothing more. "Guess we'll just have to wait for the swellings to go down on their own," said April, looking down at the sting on the back of her hand. Still, she reflected, it could have been far worse; she and Helen could easily have joined the list of tributes who had fallen in the Sixteenth Hunger Games.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Since it was already late afternoon, April and Helen decided to stay where they were and move on in the morning. Apart from anything else, they were still recovering from the tracker jacker stings. Not to mention that they were both hungry, suggesting that they must have been lying by the pond, lost in their hallucinations, for some time. They checked their packs for anything edible. April came up with the crackers and dried beef she had obtained at the Cornucopia, plus the assortment of nuts and berries and the remains of the two squirrels she had found in Artemis's pack. Helen had half a loaf of bread and a packet of soup powder, as well as a handful of nuts.

April picked up one of her squirrels and sniffed it. From the smell of it, she thought it might be starting to go off, but not knowing how much time had passed since she and Helen staggered out of the pond made it hard to be sure how far gone it was. Better not take chances, she thought, tossing the carcass, plus what was left of the other squirrel, into the woods. Under their current circumstances, the last thing she and Helen wanted to do was make themselves ill through eating rotten meat.

Tomorrow, she told herself, she would have to try out some of the trapping skills she had learned at the Training Centre; it was the only way she and Helen could obtain meat. In the meantime, they built a small campfire and, using April's saucepan, prepared the soup powder from Helen's pack. This, of course, meant using water and April wondered out loud what they would do when the water they had obtained at the Cornucopia was all gone.

"What do you mean?" asked Helen, stirring the soup with a stick.

"Well, that girl from 7 drank from a pond and she died." April shuddered, remembering how Artemis had started throwing up moments after she had finished drinking, how, moments after that, she was dead. "It was horrible. I think the Gamemakers must have poisoned the water."

"I think that water might be all right," said Helen. She nodded towards the nearby pond. "After all, we dunked ourselves in it to avoid those tracker jackers." But was it all right to drink? Neither she nor April had swallowed any of the pond water, so they wouldn't know until they tried to drink it. If it didn't do them any harm, they would know the water in this pond hadn't been poisoned.

In the meantime, they took the pan of soup off the flames, then, since neither of them had a spoon, they tore chunks off Helen's loaf of bread and used them to mop up the soup. While they were eating, the anthem began to play and the seal appeared in the sky; looking up, they saw Almond's face hovering over the arena, before fading away. Neither April nor Helen needed anyone to tell them that there would be no more faces tonight. At the death recap, the faces were always shown in district order and Almond had been from District 11. With the boys from 11 and 12 already dead, April was the only tribute from the two highest numbered districts left. But who else was still alive?

As the seal reappeared for the end of the anthem, she tried to recall who had been alive at the beginning of the day she and Helen were attacked by the tracker jackers. The six Careers, Iago from District 5, Columbus from 6, Helen from 9, Petunia and Taurus from 10 and - she discounted Almond since she had just seen the District 11 girl's face in the sky - herself. Twelve in total . . . No, wait. She had heard the cannon go off while she was caught in Helen's tree trap, but, thanks to the tracker jackers, she had no way of knowing whose death it signalled. Nor did she have any way of knowing if any tributes apart from Almond had died while she and Helen were trapped in their hallucinations.

"How long were we out?" Helen wondered out loud.

"I don't know. At least two days, I think. That's how long my mom said it took for her to recover when she got stung."

* * *

><p>April and Helen wrapped themselves in April's blanket, which was large enough to accommodate them both, and prepared themselves for another night in the arena. Another night in the place which neither of them expected to leave alive. April had already lasted longer than most District 12 tributes, but she knew she still had a long way to go before she could even think about the possibility that she might survive these Games. But that meant every other tribute had to die, including Helen.<p>

Including Helen . . . That was why she had to be careful not to get too close to her fellow tributes. Having an ally was one thing, but she could not allow herself to think of Helen as anything more. If it came down to the two of them, they would have to fight it out until one of them was killed; those were the rules. She remembered the moment at the Cornucopia when she had killed Delia. Could she kill again? She might have to before she was through here, but could she do it to Helen?

In the end, however, she decided it didn't matter; it was more likely that someone (or something) else would kill them first. In the meantime, she and Helen would continue to watch each other's backs for as long as possible, but she must remember that alliances in the Hunger Games could only go so far. Something which Reef and Iago seemed to have forgotten, judging by what she had seen at the Training Centre. The fact that they were both "into guys" wasn't an issue - the Capitol had a thriving gay community - but, by allowing themselves to get so close to each other, they were surely setting themselves up for heartbreak. Unless one of them was using the other solely for his own pleasure and planned to kill him when the opportunity arose.

On the other hand, she had no way of knowing if either of them was still alive, so she pushed them to the back of her mind and allowed herself to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>The first thing the two girls did when they woke the next morning was check each other's tracker jacker stings; they were still swollen and painful. "If only we had some of those leaves you mentioned," Helen said, lightly touching the swellings on her cheek and forehead.<p>

"I know," said April. "But I can't remember what they look like." Nor did she knew if the plant the leaves came from even grew in this arena, so she and Helen would just have to put up with a few days of discomfort - if they lived that long. And she didn't know how many of the other tributes were still out there, only that at least thirteen were already dead. Suddenly, a disturbing thought occurred to her: what if she and Helen were the last ones left? What if, while they were under the influence of the tracker jacker venom, all the remaining tributes except the two of them had been killed? No, that wasn't likely. If she was right about them having been out for two days, this was only the sixth day in the arena and the Games had never been resolved in less than a week - yet.

In the end, she decided that the best thing she and Helen could do was break camp and see what happened. If they were indeed the last tributes left, they would have to face the dilemma of deciding who should live and who should die. But, if there were other tributes still out there, then at least they wouldn't have to make such a difficult choice, a choice which all tributes who formed alliances had to face sooner or later. Unless one or both of them died by some other means, they would eventually be forced to turn on each other. Meanwhile, they breakfasted on some of the nuts and berries from April's pack and drank the last of the water from their bottles.

Afterwards, April went to the pond to wash her saucepan. As she did so, she found herself looking at the pond water, wondering if it was indeed safe to drink. It looked like any other water, but then again so had the water which Artemis had drunk. On the other hand, she and Helen needed to refill their water bottles and, unless they took a chance, they would just have to wait for it to rain. Which hadn't happened the whole time they had been in the arena. April scooped up a little water in her cupped hands and took a small mouthful. It tasted all right, so she swallowed it and waited, bracing herself for the stomach cramps which Artemis had evidently suffered; when none occurred, she took a slightly larger mouthful and repeated the process. After the third mouthful, she decided the water was almost certainly safe and filled her bottle.

Returning from the pond, she found Helen looking down at something on the ground: a silver parachute with a package attached to it. Neither of them needed to be told that it was a gift from a sponsor and it must be meant for one of them. But who was it for? April doubted it was for her; District 12 tributes rarely, if ever, attracted sponsors and she had never known any of them to receive a gift before. That meant it must have been meant for Helen. "Go ahead," April said. "Open it."

Helen did so, revealing a number of leaves, leaves which April recognised. "That's it! Those are the leaves which heal tracker jacker stings - I'm sure of it!" She was tempted to grab a handful of leaves and start applying them to her stings, but held back. This was Helen's gift and the decision to share it or not rested with her.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Helen was more than willing to share the leaves. "After all," she said, "we're allies, aren't we?" She picked up some of the leaves and examined them closely. "I suppose we have to crush them somehow," she added.<p>

April nodded. The apothecary in District 12 had told her that crushing the leaves was what released the vital component that was so effective at healing tracker jacker stings. The trouble was, he had a pestle and mortar for that purpose and whoever had sent these leaves had not included anything which could be used to crush them. That meant there was only one thing for it. She put a handful of the leaves in her mouth and started to chew; they tasted slightly bitter, but she kept going until she had chewed them to a pulp. Then, she spat them out and applied the resulting wad to the sting on the back of her hand, before repeating the process for the sting on her neck. The relief was instantaneous.

"Now you try it," she said to Helen.

Once Helen had treated her stings, she and April prepared to move on, each of them taking a handful of leaves in case their stings flared up again. Helen had refilled her water bottle at the pond, so all they had to do was make sure they left no evidence that they had been here. The last thing they wanted was to make it easy for the other tributes to track them down, especially the Careers. They covered the remains of their campfire with leaf litter, then headed off into the forest, keeping their knives ready in case they had to defend themselves.

As they walked, a thought suddenly occurred to April. If she was right about this being the sixth day in the arena, it meant she and Viola were now tied for the title of the longest surviving District 12 tributes in the history of the Games. All too often, tributes from 12 were eliminated early, as had been Simm's fate, but there were now two who had managed to stay alive for nearly a week. Of course, this was the point where Viola's luck had run out, but thinking of her late friend reminded April of the silver ring she had been given before she left for the Capitol, the silver ring which had once been Viola's. She opened the flap on her jacket pocket, took out the ring and slipped it onto her finger.

Helen noticed it. "That's pretty. Where did you get it?"

"It's my district token," April replied, holding her hand up so Helen could see the ring better. "It used to belong to my friend, the one who went to the Games last year."

"Yes, you mentioned her at your interview." Helen pulled something out from under her shirt, a length of string with a small wooden plaque attached to it. Three ears of wheat had been handpainted on the varnished wood and someone had drilled a hole so that the plaque could be turned into a pendant. "This was made by my great-grandmother," she explained. "It's been passed from mother to daughter . . ." She trailed off as she realised her current situation meant she might not live to have a daughter of her own. Then, she quickly tucked the plaque back under her shirt.

* * *

><p>April and Helen decided to try out some of the trapping techniques they had learned at the Training Centre. Using the wire April had found in Artemis's pack, plus some sticks from the forest, they managed to set a couple of passable snares, though they would have no way of knowing if they had been successful until they checked them later. In the meantime, they moved on, making a mental note of nearby landmarks so that they would be able to find the snares again.<p>

As they walked, they started telling each other about what life was like in their respective districts. April spoke of the people who lived in the Seam and how they often struggled to make ends meet, especially if the main breadwinner was killed or injured in the mines, of the merchants like her own family who were only marginally better off. Helen talked of the hours spent planting, harvesting and processing grain, which would then be delivered to the Capitol. The citizens of District 9 were slightly better off than those of 12, but they were by no means wealthy and they had a fairly high take-up rate when it came to tesserae. Helen herself had had fifteen entries this year: three because it was her third reaping, plus twelve for three years' worth of tesserae for herself, her parents and her little sister, Bella.

None of this was shown on television, partly because the sight of two tributes talking was not particularly interesting, but mainly because April and Helen were revealing information about Districts 9 and 12 that the Capitol would prefer did not become common knowledge. If people in different districts learned too much about each other, they might unite and rise up against the Capitol once more; keeping them ignorant kept them divided.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, April and Helen went back to check the snares. One of them was empty, but the other had caught a rabbit. April made to release the rabbit from the snare and, just as she did so, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Reacting instinctively, she moved aside just in time to avoid the spear which Velvet had thrown at her, then pulled out her knife and launched herself at the District 1 girl. As she did so, she had a brief flashback of Viola, who had died fighting Velvet's counterpart from last year. It was unlikely the outcome of this fight would be any different, but April wasn't about to just stand there and let Velvet kill her. Not without at least trying to put up a fight.<p>

Velvet countered by producing a knife of her own. Her back-up weapon in case she had to fight at close quarters or a tribute she had wounded with her spear needed to be finished off. Soon, she and April were exchanging blows, trying to thrust their knives into a vital part of each other's bodies. They were fairly evenly matched in terms of size, April being taller by an inch, but Velvet was physically stronger and she was also a Career. Anyone who might want to bet on this fight would probably put their money on the outcome being the same as it had been when the girls from Districts 1 and 12 fought each other in last year's Games. Velvet fought with the skill of someone who had spent her entire life training for this moment, April with the desperation of someone who had to fight if she wanted to stay alive.

Gradually, Velvet gained the upper hand. Forcing April to the ground, she sat astride her opponent, pinning her down. April tried to push Velvet off her, only to find that she was too heavy; it seemed that April was about to go the same way as every previous District 12 tribute. And Velvet, judging by the smile on her face, knew it. She examined her knife as though she was trying to decide whether to slit April's throat or stab her through the heart; either way, the cannon would soon be firing again.

"Just get on with it!" April said through clenched teeth. It was bad enough that she was about to die on national television without her killer toying with her, drawing out her death as long as possible.

"As you wish." Velvet raised her knife and prepared to thrust it into April's chest. April closed her eyes . . .

. . . and opened them again when, seconds later, she felt something heavy fall against her and heard the boom of the cannon. It took her a moment to register the fact that she was still alive and that Velvet was sprawled on top of her, dead. Crawling out from under the girl who, moments before, had been about to kill her, she looked down at the body to see a spear, the same spear which had nearly hit her, lodged between Velvet's shoulder blades. And Helen was standing there, breathing heavily; unseen by either Velvet or April, she had retrieved the spear and, while Velvet was preoccupied with trying to finish off April, thrust it into her back.

"I killed her." Helen sounded slightly surprised, as if she could not believe what she had just done.

April did not reply. She quickly retrieved the rabbit from the snare and stuffed it into her backpack, then dismantled both snares. Next, she tried to pull the spear out of Velvet's body, only to find that it wouldn't move; after giving it a couple more tugs, she decided to leave it. "Come on," she told Helen. "We'd better get out of here." Not only would the Gamemakers be wanting to retrieve the body, the other Careers might be nearby, ready to do what Velvet had failed to do.


End file.
